GREEN LANTERN:DCF
by shaxberd
Summary: Green Lantern. Once, there existed an entire Corps of such champions, but since the murder of Kyle Rayner, none have risen to carry on this proud legacy. Until now.
1. In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night

_THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author. Quotations have been taken from the medieval poem, "THE GREENE KNIGHT," as edited by Thomas Hahn.  
_

**Dateline: New Coast City**

An elderly man works silently in the dark. Antique blowtorches, circuitry, and modern laserwelders litter the room, and schematics for a suit of high-tech battlearmor decorate the wall behind him. Intermittent sparks light the room in brief flashes as he completes various connections and seals various components on what appears to be a nearly-finished prototype. The process continues for hours, but eventually, he puts his tools away.

Switching on a nearby computer, he removes his protective mask, wiping the sweat off off a brow wrinkled by years of toil, fighting, and worry. Picking up a small, technical instrument, he passes it over the armor slowly, from head to toe. Despite the obvious fatigue, his features are stoic as he completes what he hopes will be the last of thousands of scans.

Looking at the visual display of his analytical computer, he waits patiently as the information from his scan is processed and analyzed. Eventually, percentage numbers are increased from zero to one hundred percent, and words are displayed and spoken. "Analysis complete. Systems operating at one hundred percent."

Elated, the elderly gentleman's features beam with happiness, but he resists the urge to leap for joy, being too well-disciplined and having seen too much pain and sorrow to allow himself such simple pleasures. Even so, he does partially forget himself, speaking audibly when no one else was present. Perhaps old age was catching upto him.

"At last, it's finished. It took two decades, but it's finally finished," he says, his voice rising as the excitement of the moment overcomes him. "The war against the UN has been going badly for far too long. And Patriot will never win unless it focuses its efforts by rallying behind a strong leader. A hero. A symbol of hope."

Glancing once again at his masterwork, he thought back on the years that it had taken to turn a simple design into reality. The problem had always been finding a suitable power source, something that the Justice League wouldn't be able to track or disable, something powerful enough to make the armor a force to be reckoned with. He brushed his hand lovingly over the lantern symbol molded onto the chestplate as he opened a small, iron box nearby. He opens it, allowing an emerald glow to emanate from its contents.

"What we need is a new Green Lantern."

**GREEN LANTERN:DCF #1**  
(Year One, Part One)

_"In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night"_

Written by D. David Lee  
Edited by Jason Tippitt

_Shee taught her sonne the knight alsoe_  
_In transposed likenesse he shold goe_  
_Both by fell and frythe._  
_Shee said, "Thou shalt to Arthurs hall,_  
_For there great adventures shall befall_  
_That ever saw king or knight."_

* * *

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 29, 2112]**

"Our asses are grass if we get caught. You know that, right?" said a costumed figure, speaking in hushed tones.

"Damn it, Bryan! We're in the sub-sub-basement, for crying out loud!" said the other figure emphatically, nonetheless doing what he could to keep his own voice down. "No one comes down to this hole anymore. Besides, he's our friend. We owe it to him to try and bring him back to consciousness before those bootlickers in R&D get their hooks into him, not to mention their scalpels."

Looking down at the face of his friend on the hover-gurney, who'd been stuck in a coma for three days, the first figure reluctantly nodded his agreement. "Are you sure this is going to work, Beck? What's with that poetry the machine is spouting?"

"Something buried in his subconscious, maybe? Who knows!" exclaimed Beckett, trying to ignore his own nagging doubts and failing miserably. "The coma is being caused by conflicting memories. Once those memories are sorted out, he should wake up, and I've rigged this machine to do just that."

"That's another thing that worries me. The psychic probe isn't the gentlest of machines. People being questioned by it tend to die for no good reason," said Bryan, gently laying his hand on his comatose friend's forehead, carefully avoiding contact with the input leads attached to his temples. "What if something goes wrong?"

"Look, I'm just as worried as you are, but this is his only shot. If he doesn't wake up soon, he's headed for the dissection table, and we both know it," said Beckett, making final adjustments to the controls. In a few minutes, everything was ready, and he depressed the activation button, causing the machinery to hum to life.

A holo-monitor to the side of the hover-gurney flickered on and started displaying a series of random images, including that of a desperate battle being pitched against a man in emerald armor. Eventually, the image pattern stabilized, displaying an ordered sequence of events.

"Look, it's working..."

**NorAm: New Coast City [December 25, 2099]**

"Grandpa, why do we always come to the park this time of year?" asked a young boy, his hand held tightly in that of a much older man. His name was Martin Ulster, and he was only nine years old, far too young to appreciate the significance of either history or tradition as his grandfather did. All he really wanted to do was stay home and play with the Christmas presents he'd just opened.

"Because that's the way I want it," said his grandfather. Simon Ulster was eighty-five years old and more than set in his ways. He could hardly stand the way his old bones creaked or the other, more humiliating ways that his body failed him nowadays. Just the same, he enjoyed almost always being able to get his own way, the only real benefit of elderly status as far as he was concerned.

"Damn kids. Don't know anything about anything. Always asking questions..." he grumbled to no one in particular, not really meaning a word of it. Looking at his grandson, he saw that Martin had his eyes downcast as if he'd done something wrong. Closing his own eyes and exhaling slowly, Simon berated himself mentally, tousling his grandson's hair.

"Chin up, Marty. Always asking lots of questions is a good thing. Your daddy used to ask me questions all the time, and I never really minded. Still don't. I'm just old and crotchety now so I say a lot of things I don't really mean."

Almost instantly perking up, Martin smiled up at his grandfather before repeating his question. "So why do we come here every year?"

"Haha," laughed Simon, a hearty belly laugh that always made Martin want to start laughing too. "That's the spirit. I take you here because I used to bring your father here before he passed on," he said, his voice choking a bit at the end. "Because I wanted him to know what it means to be a hero, and I want you to know that, too. Besides, it's the last Christmas of the century, and I want to do things proper."

"But wouldn't the last Christmas of the century be next year, Grandpa?" asked Martin, his cherubic face turned upwards to catch drifting flakes of snow.

"Rotten kids. Too smart for their own good, too big for their britches..." he grumbled, but smiling all the while.

Holding Martin's hand a bit more tightly, Simon continued on his way. Finally, the two intrepid travelers reached their destination, a statue erected in the middle of the park. It stood some twenty feet tall and was fashioned from cold iron, nobility seemingly molded into it. "There he is, Marty. Hal Jordan. The legendary Green Lantern."

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 29, 2112]**

"Heh. Who knew he was such a cute kid," said Bryan, who couldn't quite hide an amused smile. "Not to mention a Green Lantern fan. Kind of ironic, don't you think?"

"What did you expect? He was born in New Coast City. Everybody here still loves that Hal Jordan guy," said Beckett. "But do they care about any of us modern Leaguers...?"

**NorAm: New Coast City [December 25, 2099]**

The blast was nearly deafening. Years later, Martin would never quite be able to recall exactly what happened, but he would never be able to forget, either. Whereas his grandfather's attention had been focused on the statue, Martin's eyes had been drawn to the flying figures with blaster rifles mounted on their shoulders.

"Down with the Justice League! Long live Patriot!" yelled the flying figures, their weapons raining a torrent of laser fire down on the statue of Hal Jordan. A brief, blinding flash was followed by the sound and smell of molten metal raining down on the park. Toxic fumes spread all around where the statue had once stood, forcing Martin to close his eyes involuntarily and obscuring the sky.

When he was finally able to open his eyes again, Martin saw an image that confused him at first, that of his grandfather trapped beneath the fallen remains of the statue he loved so much. "Grandpa! Grandpa!" he yelled, running towards his grandfather, wanting very much to help but not really sure what to do.

Coughing up blood, Simon was barely conscious, and he wasn't entirely sure what could be done either. He felt a heavy weight crushing his legs, and his arms felt like they were on fire. "Marty, get out of here!" he yelled. "You can't help me!"

"No, I won't go!" yelled Martin, moving away from the hands that were trying to force him away from the statue. Still warm to the touch, Martin pressed his little hands against it, trying to get a grip and move it, not realizing how many tons it weighed.

"It's no use, Marty, it's too heavy! Run! Save yourself!" yelled Simon, trying not to choke on his own blood. He could hear the sound of continuing weapons fire, orders being barked commandingly, and other sounds he didn't recognize. But when the haze from the fumes finally cleared, Simon could see that the Justice League had arrived to deal with the Patriot saboteurs.

As he turned his eyes away from the raging battle, his elation was cut short by the shocking sight that greeted his eyes when he turned them back on his grandson. A look of fierce determination on his face, somehow nine-year-old Martin Ulster was lifting the remains of the statue of Hal Jordan over his head and casually tossing it away.

"Grandpa, are you okay?" asked Martin, tears in his eyes. But still in shock from what he had just witnessed, Simon could say nothing. He didn't even notice when the battle between Patriot and the Justice League came to a foregone conclusion, and someone began barking orders that medical attention be brought to the site immediately.

"That was very impressive, young man," said an attractive woman wearing the uniform of a Justice League agent. Grandfather and grandson both recognized her almost immediately as the Leaguer named Velocity, who was always appearing on magazine covers and in holovision programs. "The Justice League will be wanting to talk to you very soon," she continued, smiling.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 29, 2112]**

"Wow. Now there's a looker," said Bryan, whistling with appreciation. "Damn, I wish my recruiter had looked like that."

"Aw, give it a rest, will ya? At least have a little respect for the dead, not to mention Marty here," said Beckett, wincing a bit. "Can you imagine being drafted at only nine years old? Grife..."

**NorAm: New Coast City [December 25, 2099]**

The Angel Room at the Paradise Hotel was, perhaps, the best and most exclusive restaurant in all of New Coast City. Typically, reservations had to be made weeks in advance and usually involved gratuities involving more than three digits during the holiday season, especially on Christmas Day. Even for a Tempest Engineer, that was steep, and Ian Marshall could barely countenance the fact that his date was late... again.

Nervously fingering the engagement ring in his pocket, Ian couldn't help fidgeting. 'What the hell could be keeping her?' he thought to himself as he drummed his fingers on the table. He tried to relax and enjoy the live orchestra, but found himself continually checking his watch, his eyes glued not to the pillared walls or the muraled ceiling, but the double doors that served as the restaurant's main entrance.

Seconds later, a beautiful woman rushed through those same doors, quickly calmed down, and composed herself. A famous television news journalist, Amanda Carter was a celebrity of sorts, and she could be excused minor indiscretions like her hasty entrance. Greeting her warmly, the maitre'd led her to her table with all due ceremony.

"I'm sorry I'm late," said Amanda, giving Ian a quick kiss, "but I had to make a quick detour to the park. Some Patriot agents attacked the statue of Hal Jordan and nearly killed two innocent bystanders."

"The story of the century?" asked Ian with mock irritation, not because she was late but because she had put herself in a dangerous situation yet again. Still, perhaps that was one of the reasons why he loved her.

"Ian, it's my job, and it's a big story. A new meta was revealed during the incident. Those two bystanders I was talking about? One of them was just a kid, barely nine years old. When the statue collapsed, he caught and lifted it with his bare hands!" said Amanda excitedly. "The Justice League has already taken him into custody, to train him to be a Leaguer one day."

"And you think that's a good thing? Taking him away from his family?" asked Ian, surprised by Amanda's excitement. "Locking him away?"

Amanda just cocked her head to one side, smiling that awkwardly apologetic smile of hers that always made Ian's heart melt. "Of course not. I feel terrible for that boy and what he's going to go through, but it makes a great addition to my news story for this week."

"You mean you're still going to run that anti-Justice League piece?" asked Ian, concern evident in his voice. "Don't you think that's a little risky? I mean, a lot of people believe in the Justice League, and kids practically worship them."

"That's exactly why I want to write this story. Just because they call themselves the Justice League doesn't mean that they're the same as the Justice League of old," said Amanda, hoping Ian would understand. "They don't have a Superman to be their moral compass anymore. And it may be true that they do more good than harm, but harm they do. It's important that people start to question that," she finished, placing her hand on his.

"So more nuts can start joining Patriot?" asked Ian, hoping to dissuade Amanda from her chosen course. Turning public opinion against the Justice League was a very dangerous thing, and he wanted their lives together to be simple and carefree.

Stunned by his statement, Amanda momentarily pulled her hand away from his before quickly taking it again. Seeing this, Ian relented, taking her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry. It's just that I know what your career means to you, and I know how much it would hurt you to have it taken away," he said.

"I know, and I love you for it, but some things are more important than careers, maybe even more important than living..." she said ominously, just as her pager went off. Reading the message, her face became apologetically distraught. "I'm sorry, Ian, but I have to go. I was really looking forward to this evening, but something important has come up. Do you understand? Will you forgive me? Please?"

Idly, Ian patted his hand against the pocket that held the engagement ring that he'd hoped to present, sighing audibly. "Of course I forgive you," he said. "I love you." Leaning forward, Ian kissed Amanda passionately, and she returned that passion in equal measure before regretfully pulling away.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to go. I'll call you soon," she said, rising and backing away towards the door. "Merry Christmas...!"

"Merry Christmas to you, too, darling," whispered Ian as he watched her go. He waited for her to go out the doors before pulling out the engagement ring he'd bought to look at it and dream about what might be.

Just as he snapped the box shut again and ended his reverie, an explosion rocked the building.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 29, 2112]**

"What the hell was that all about? Aren't these supposed to be Marty's memories?" asked Bryan, quite confused by what he was seeing.

Beckett quickly looked over the various readouts to make sure there wasn't some glitch screwing with the playback. "How the hell should I know?" he asked, trying to match his friend's tone. "If I had to guess, I'd say that's one of the conflicting memories we're trying to sort out, memories that belong to somebody else. It looks like the machine is sorting them chronologically."

"Someone else's memories? How did that happen? Was that armored guy a telepath, too...?" began Bryan, looking perplexed. "And whose memories are they?"

"I'm just as much in the dark as you. I guess the only way to find out is to keep watching."

**NorAm: New Coast City [December 31, 2099]**

"But I don't want to go!" yelled Martin, hugging his grandfather close. "I want to stay with you!" Tears began to run down Martin's face, and Simon wiped them away, more gently than he ever had before. Perhaps it was because of the hospital bed he was sitting in, his injuries still serious. Perhaps it was because he would never see his grandson again.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Marty. You're not just a kid anymore. You're metahuman, someone gifted with powers and abilities beyond those of ordinary men and women. That's how you lifted that statue the other day," said Simon, going on bended knee to hold his grandson by the shoulders.

"They say that sunlight makes you really strong, really fast, and practically invulnerable to harm. You have powers, son, and a responsibility to use those powers to save more people, just like you saved me. The Justice League will teach you how to do that, and I know you'll make me proud."

"Proud? Really?" asked Martin, trying to stop the tears, trying to be brave.

"Very proud, maybe even more than your dad. He was a soldier like me. Joined the NAF and fought the Iron Major. He died a hero, protecting the UN from terrorism, and you're going to be a hero, too. A superhero, son, just like Hal Jordan, protecting people from those Patriot terrorists who tried to hurt us. Do you understand?" he asked, trying to lend the boy his own strength.

"No, Grandpa, but I'll do it anyway," said Martin, standing at attention, something his grandfather had taught him at an early age. "I'll make you proud."

"I know you will," said Simon, smiling. "I also know you're too young to understand, but you will one day, so remember what I'm about to tell you now. I wasn't much older than you are during the dark days before the UN. People complain about it now, but that's only because they don't remember what it was like back then. Nothing but chaos, son. Millions of people died."

Looking his grandson straight in the eyes, Simon Ulster continued in a faltering voice. "Have you ever heard of a place called Hub City, Marty?" he asked. "It's gone, son. An entire city and everyone in it, gone, just like that!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Just like Coast City was destroyed all those years ago. It's upto you to keep that from ever happening again, just like your daddy did before you."

Still on bended knee, Simon Ulster returned his grandson's salute and quickly turned his head when the Leaguer known as Velocity stepped forward to take his grandson away. It just wouldn't do to let the boy's last memory of him be that of a pathetic old man in tears. No, it wouldn't do at all.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 29, 2112]**

Bryan quickly turned his own head away from Beckett, who did the same. "Sorry, I... I've just got something in my eye," he said.

"Yeah... me, too..."

**NorAm: New Coast City [January 2, 2100]**

The funeral had been held as soon as the holidays would allow. Many were still mourning the loss of loved ones in Hub City, and in the wake of that destruction, the turnout for Amanda Carter's funeral had been limited to family and the closest of friends. Ian Marshall mourned alongside them, but several hours after the ceremony was over, he returned to privately say some last few words of his own.

"Hi, Amanda. I know I'll never be able to forgive myself for not having held onto you a little longer," he said, presenting the engagement ring he'd planned to give her that fateful night.

"Who knows? Maybe if I'd gone through with proposing, you'd have been delayed a few minutes and hailed a different cab. Maybe you'd still be alive now..." he finished, tears causing him to choke on his words as he fell to his knees, sobbing into his hands.

"It's not your fault, you know," said the stranger, a woman wearing a trenchcoat and dark sunglasses.

His grief interrupted, Ian looked up to see someone he didn't recognize at first, noticing for the first time that he wasn't alone. Then, she removed her sunglasses, momentarily revealing herself to be the Justice Leaguer known as Velocity. "Wh... what are you doing here? What are you talking about?" he asked.

"There was a bomb in the cab. The Justice League killed her to kill her story," said Velocity, not batting an eye. "It's too bad, really. She was a good journalist. And a good friend."

"What do you mean? You knew her? Why are you telling me this?" asked Ian, completely confused by her statements. The Justice League was responsible for Amanda's death? Wasn't she a member of the Justice League? And if she was, then why was she betraying them? "I want answers!" he yelled, grabbing her trenchcoat by the lapels with both hands.

Nanoseconds later, Ian found himself sprawled upon the floor, Velocity's booted foot on top of his chest. "Look, I know what you're going through, but you've got to move on. It's what Amanda would have wanted for you. I know you have questions, but you're going to have to calm down and ask them one at a time if you really want answers."

Unable to get up, Ian gritted his teeth and did what he could to calm himself. Ignoring his anger for the moment, he did as Velocity suggested. "Why did Amanda die?"

"Amanda wasn't just a journalist. She was an agent of Patriot. Her mission was to turn public opinion against Justice, the UN, and the Justice League," said Velocity, eyeing Ian's look of astonishment with some amusement.

It took a little time for her words to register completely, and Ian was sorely tempted to argue with her, but ultimately saw no point in it. What she said made sense. It explained a lot of the odd behavior he'd noticed in Amanda recently and the dangerous line of investigation she'd been pursuing of late.

"I'll assume you know about the assassination because you're an agent of the Justice League," Ian began, "but if she was a member of Patriot, then how can you call yourself her friend?"

"For your information, Amanda's assassination isn't common knowledge, even in the Justice League. The only reason I know is because I'm a Patriot spy, which also explains how I could have been Amanda's friend," said Velocity, wondering whether she would now have to kill this man whom Amanda had regarded so highly.

Stunned even further by this pronouncement, Ian could say nothing, but he understood the danger of his predicament. Velocity was telling him all this because she wanted something from him, and his life would be forfeit if he refused. Still, he decided to play dumb. "Why are you telling me all this?" he asked.

"Because Amanda believed in you and wanted you to know if anything happened to her," said Velocity. "I promised her that I'd take care of it, and I always keep my promises. Well, most of the time. Anyway, I'm here to offer you a place in Patriot. You're a weapons engineer, and a good one from what Amanda told me. We could use a few more people with real technical skills."

"What makes you think I'd join a group of terrorists? People who threaten innocent bystanders and use bombs and guns to make their point?" asked Ian rhetorically. "They're maniacs! They killed everyone in Hub City!"

"Look, not all of Patriot is like that. Every resistance group has its radical faction that insists on blowing up symbols and attacking on holidays so people will remember better," said Velocity, exerting slightly more pressure with her foot. "And you can blame Justice for what happened to Hub City. Do you think I agree with that crap? Do you think Amanda did?"

That, of course, gave Ian pause. "No. No, Amanda would never go along with anything like that," he admitted, reminiscing about how they'd first met. His first job out of college had been as a tech at the news station where she happened to be interning. She only started dating him because he was the only guy there who wasn't after somebody else's job, and they kept dating even after he'd moved on to doing R&D for Tempest Enterprises.

"Look," said Velocity, "I know everything about you. Otherwise, I wouldn't be making this offer. Patriot's ultimate goal is to replace the status quo with something better, a government that doesn't murder its citizens, a government that doesn't need a Justice League to keep its citizenry down. Don't you understand? I'm offering you a chance for revenge! To fight for what Amanda believed in!"

Ian wasn't sure that revenge was something he wanted, but ultimately, he didn't have a choice. If he said no, then Velocity would be forced to kill him, and a world in which Amanda would never have been killed was something he desperately wanted.

"If you put it that way, then what else can I say? he asked rhetorically, reaching out his hand. "I accept."

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 29, 2112]**

"Whoa! Velocity was a double-agent? Grife!" exclaimed Bryan, stunned by what he'd just learned. "Is this thing working right? Maybe we'd better go tell someone about this..."

"No, we don't know for sure that these 'other' memories are anything but lies. Maybe that's even what this is all about, Patriot feeding us false information," said Beckett, shaking his head. "We can't say anything. Not yet. If the info is false, then there's nothing to worry about. But if it's true, and Marty's under Patriot influence, then..."

"...then Justice will order Marty executed," finished Bryan.

* * *

_The knight said, "Soe mote I thee,_  
_To Arthurs court will I mee hye_  
_For to praise thee right,_  
_And to prove Gawaines points three -_  
_And that be true that men tell me,_  
_By Mary most of might._

- _End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #1_ -


	2. No Evil Shall Escape My Sight

_THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author. Quotations have been taken from the medieval poem, "THE GREENE KNIGHT," as edited by Thomas Hahn._

**GREEN LANTERN:DCF #2**  
(Year One, Part Two)

_"No Evil Shall Escape My Sight"_

Written by D. David Lee  
Edited by Jason Tippitt

_Earlye, soone as itt was day,_  
_The Knight dressed him full gay,_  
_Umstrode a full good steede;_  
_Helme and hawberke both he hent,_  
_A long fauchion verament_  
_To fend them in his neede._

* * *

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]**

The image on the holo-monitor started to flicker and fade in and out as Martin Ulster's body began to convulse on the hover-gurney.

"What's happening now?" asked Bryan, who leaned over his friend to try and pin him down, not an easy task considering Marty's superhuman strength, but Bryan was no slouch in the strength department, either. "Do something!"

"I'm trying!" exclaimed Beckett, his hands leaping from control to control, trying to stabilize his friend. Eventually, he was forced to inject Marty with a sedative, which did calm him down eventually. "Thank goodness."

"You can say that again! I don't think I could have held him down much longer. He's even stronger than I remember," said Bryan, wiping the sweat from his brow and massaging sore muscles.

"Yeah, seizures are known to do that, but he's stable now," said Beckett, preparing another hypo just in case. "Look, the holo-monitor is registering again..."

**The Moon: Justice League Academy [January 16, 2108]**

"Welcome to the Justice League Academy," said a holographic image of Hourman, standing behind a podium. "You've all surpassed many obstacles and made many sacrifices to be here. I know it couldn't have been easy, but you made it. You should all be congratulated, and I know that one day, you will all do much to make the Justice League proud."

His words were greeted by applause from all around, just as his image flickered away. The Justice League had several academies, but its lunar facility was reserved for those few candidates born with meta-human abilities. Indeed, there were only nine students total in the Class of 2112.

Turning to the student closest to him, Martin introduced himself. "Hi, my name is Martin Ulster, but my friends call me Marty," he said. That wasn't quite true as the nature of his upbringing hadn't really allowed him to make any friends, but he was hoping all that was about to change.

"Martin Ulster? What kind of superhero name is that?" said the teenager he'd addressed, who was wearing a gaudy blue costume with the letters BB in gold printed on his chest, with matching golden boots, gloves, goggles, and underpants. "I call myself Bugmaster Blue," he said with as much drama as he could muster.

"Bugmaster Blue?" asked Martin, not certain how to react. "Wow. That'll really strike terror into the hearts of evildoers," he continued, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"You better believe it will!" said Bugmaster Blue, striking as gallant a pose as he could, planting his fists on his hips, and standing up straight and tall. He stood a good six and a half feet tall, and if not for the fact that he was rail thin, the pose might actually have been somewhat intimidating.

His lips trembling, Martin did his best to keep a straight face. "Well, my superhero name is Cu Chulainn. He was a hero from Celtic mythology, the legendary hero of 'Ulster.' Get it?" he asked, elbowing Bugmaster Blue in the ribs. His own costume was form-fitting, mostly black with a simple green mask worn over the eyes. The emblem of an emerald spear on a triangular field was emblazoned upon his chest.

"Did I hear someone say Celtic, now?" asked another student, this one dressed in standard Justice League body armor, but with a black trench coat over it. "Kieran O'Kennedy, at your service, gentlemen," he said, leaning forward into a bow.

"Glad to meet you," said Martin, taking Kieran's hand in his. "Martin Ulster, also known as Cu Chulainn, and this is Bugmaster Blue. What's your superhero name?"

"I call myself Mulligan," said Kieran, taking Martin's hand and then Bugmaster Blue's. "I have the rather unusual ability to reverse the flow of time, but only for about five minutes or so. What can you lads do?"

"Nothing quite that interesting," said Martin, scratching his head. "My body absorbs sunlight, giving me super strength and making me invulnerable. Pretty basic, I know, but the League provided me with this spear," he continued, presenting the emerald-colored weapon for view. "It fires an electrical discharge, kind of like a lightning bolt."

"How interesting. I was given something much the same," said Kieran, presenting what appeared to be an oaken cudgel for view, whose head consisted of a large, crystal sphere. "It can absorb, store, and project various kinds of energy. A very handy weapon, the latest thing from Tempest Enterprises."

"I wonder, why they didn't give me a weapon like that?" asked Bugmaster Blue, gesticulating with his arms. "Well, with my powers, I guess I don't need them. I can telepathically command the insect world, calling them to my aid!" he exclaimed proudly.

"And they didn't give you a weapon, too?" asked Kieran, somewhat perplexed. The Justice League was known for making sure that all of their agents had offensive capabilities. "Are you sure you don't have any other powers you haven't mentioned?"

"I don't think so," said Bugmaster Blue, looking pensive. "I mean, my power only works on insects. Every time I try to use it on humans or other animals, they start screaming and fall unconscious. Oh, and I'm also something of a scientific genius. Maybe they expect me to make my own weapons?"

Both Martin and Kieran raised their eyebrows upon hearing this, since neither of them had any defense against psychic attack. "Yeah, that might be right..." began Martin, who couldn't quite keep a low whistle from escaping between his lips. "Anyway, what's your real name? I mean, we're all friends here, right?"

"Well... okay," said Bugmaster Blue, fidgeting a bit, not used to being so personal with anyone. "My real name is Beckett Baker, but you can call me Beck..."

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]**

"Bwa ha ha!" said Bryan, erupting into an uncontrollable fit of hysterical laughter, clutching his sides. "I can't believe that's you..."

"Aw, shut up. I was just a kid, damn it, and I didn't know any better," said Beckett, whose face was reddening. "So I was a little gangly... and socially awkward and... aw, just shut up!"

**NorAm: Canada, Patriot HQ [January 16, 2108]**

Ian Marshall gritted his teeth, knowing that he wouldn't much like what he was about to behold. It had been over eight years since he'd stopped designing weapons systems for the Justice League as an employee of Tempest Enterprises and started making them for Patriot instead. Aside from the fact that he was now a terrorist, little had changed, but Patriot was nothing like what he'd imagined.

For the most part, the people in Patriot were ordinary people fighting for a better world, a better future. Granted, there were a number of people who just wanted to fight against the system, but most were people who had lost loved ones to the injustice that the UN represented. At its heart, Patriot consisted of those rare individuals willing to fight to make sure that what happened to them never happened to anyone else.

As for Patriot's headquarters, that was just as much of a surprise to Ian as the people. He'd always imagined that Patriot operated out of an underground cavern of some kind, not an ultra-modern facility. Easily as advanced as anything Tempest or LexCorp could offer, Ian had been given free reign to design the most advanced weaponry possible for use against the Justice League. He thought he'd done just that for what he now considered his surrogate family.

"What the hell happened?" asked Ian with a moan, looking at the damage that had been done to his latest mecha, a powerful armored suit larger than a tank. The STEELE Mk III had been his pride and joy. More than that, it was the most powerful armored suit he'd been able to design so far, but after one little skirmish with the Justice League, it was little more than a heap of scrap metal.

"Same as always," said the pilot, a young woman named Chris, the most skilled mecha pilot in all of Patriot. "It's too big and too slow. Don't get me wrong, Ian, it's a great design, and one-on-one, I'm pretty sure it could take out any Leaguer. The problem's that we're not talking about just one. It's never just one, and Patriot doesn't have the time or resources to build as many of your mechas as we need."

"It's the power core," said Ian, carefully examining the various blast points where the Mk III had taken damage. "There's just no fuel source compact enough to make a smaller design feasible, not without some kryptonite. Any luck yet?"

Removing her helmet, Chris shook her long, red hair free of it. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but Ian couldn't think of her as anything more than a comrade-in-arms, and to some extent as a daughter. "We've tried, but the kryptonite vault is too-well-protected," she said, caressing the broken mecha, which was her 'baby' as much as it was Ian's. "Patriot's spent decades looking for stray deposits with no luck."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Ian, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I've been looking through the history files, and I found an entry about a glowing green rock that someone found back in 2090. There's no follow-up report."

"That's because it was a dead end," said Chris, shaking her head. "The agent who filed that report disappeared, and when we checked out the coordinates he sent us, nothing was found. We can only assume that our agent is dead and that whatever was there, if anything, was confiscated by the Justice League before we could get our hands on it."

"Did the Justice League ambush the team you sent?" asked Ian, reluctant to give up on even this most fragile of hopes.

"Well... no, I don't think so," said Chris. "If they had, then there'd have been a record of it somewhere."

"Then there's a chance that it's still there! The coordinates led to where? Somewhere in the Arctic? Maybe there was an avalanche or something... maybe a cave-in in the ice..." began Ian, getting excited. "You have to check it out! If it is kryptonite, then even the smallest chip could be enough to..."

"I'm sorry, but no," said Chris, who hated having to be the one to burst Ian's bubble. "If any Kryptonite had been there, then a Geiger counter would have picked up on it. There's no kryptonite, Ian, and we don't have the manpower to spare for a fool's mission."

"I... I understand," said Ian, eyes downcast. Chris hugged him briefly before moving on to help the tech crews salvage what parts they could from the wreckage of the Mk III. But as soon as she left, the expression on Ian's face changed from one of defeat to one of determination. 'Maybe it isn't kryptonite, but maybe it's something else that would be just as effective. If you won't investigate, then I will,' he thought to himself.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]**

"Kryptonite, huh?" asked Bryan, scratching his chin. "That would explain a lot."

"Yeah..." began Beckett, taking in what was going on, "but that armor was really powerful. I mean, all the levels were off the scales. If he did find kryptonite, then it would have to have been a pretty big chunk. We've been studying the remains of the armor we recovered, and the tech boys still can't explain exactly how it works..."

**The Moon: Justice League Academy [January 17, 2108]**

Sitting on the mat, Martin tugged on the electronic collar around his neck. It made him feel quite uncomfortable, not to mention vulnerable. Specially designed to neutralize his metahuman abilities, one had been specially constructed for every student in the class to facilitate their hand-to-hand combat training.

Rumor had it that even after graduation, these collars were kept in storage just in case a Leaguer proved to be a liability in the future. Supposedly, Justice himself kept these collars in a special locker for just such an emergency. No one really gave any credence to these rumors, but with the collar actually around his neck, Martin couldn't help wondering.

"All right, you lazy slugs! You've been screwing up long enough!" yelled the instructor, a stern man, with more muscles than anyone really needed, named Montoya. A retired NAF Drill Instructor, he had no meta-human abilities of his own, and just about everyone agreed that he didn't need them. "You think your powers make you special? Well, here, they don't mean squat! Ulster! Wilson! On deck!"

As fast as he could manage, Martin leaped to his feet in one smooth motion and stepped forward to face his opponent. Having been conscripted by the Justice League for training at a very young age, he was larger and in better shape than most of his classmates, but Samuel Davis Wilson was the exception.

Martin stood just over six feet tall and weighed two hundred and ten pounds, but compared to Samuel, he looked like the proverbial ninety-pound weakling. Calling himself 'Saracen' in honor of his Moorish ancestry, he was a giant of a man, standing just under seven feet tall and weighing over three hundred pounds. Even without his strange, mystical abilities, Samuel was a very formidable opponent.

"Man, this is gonna be good," said one of the students, generally considered a troublemaker by the instructors, who gave him slack only because his father was Gunfire, a Justice Leaguer and a member of Hourman's battalion. The students generally considered him too arrogant for his own good. Still, Gunsmith's ability to morph his arms into projectile weapons was quite formidable so they mostly kept their opinions to themselves.

"Shut it!" whispered Kieran harshly, not taking his eyes from the battle playing itself out in front of them. Bill Gates III was not his favorite classmate, and the future heir to the TrumpGates Corporation generally rubbed him the wrong way.

All of his senses on alert, Martin kept an eye out for all the telltale warnings of an attack. His eyes were trained on Sammy's pupils, just in case they darted out at him. His ears were on the alert for a sharp exhale. In the end, however, it did him no good. He tried a few complicated wrist locks when Sammy finally attacked, but they were quickly reversed. In a matter of seconds, Martin found himself up in the air and down on the mat.

Smiling and extending a hand to help him up, Samuel amiably took his hand. "Sorry, old chap, but that's the way things tumble every now and again," he said, his upper-class British accent flawless, and his voice unusually high-pitched for someone his size.

"You know, I'll never get used to that accent coming out of your mouth," said Martin, gladly accepting Samuel's help. They clasped forearms, and they both stepped out of the circle, resuming their seats.

"Thieving English bastard!" yelled Kieran playfully, his words greeted by laughter all around. As disparate as their personalities were, Saracen and Mulligan had become fast friends early on.

"Oh! You think that's funny...?" yelled Montoya.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]**

Bryan and Beckett both shuddered visibly. "I remember that bastard, Montoya. Damn, I'll never forget that little space between his two front teeth," said Bryan, who still looked back on his Academy days as nothing more than four years of psychological terrorism, not that he'd ever say so publicly.

"Neither will I, but he wasn't such a bad guy..." began Beckett, staring at himself struggling to do pushups on the holo-monitor. "If not for him, I'd still look like that!" he continued, pointing at his image. Indeed, the bony specimen in the holo-monitor had grown into a healthy, reasonably well-muscled specimen, and Beckett would forever thank Instructor Montoya for being tough on him.

"Yeah? Well, if I never see that sadistic bastard again, it'll be too soon..."

**The Arctic: The North Pole [January 17, 2108]**

Stealing the stealth hover had been child's play for Ian. After all, he was the one who'd designed the damned thing, not to mention the days he'd spent programming the flight simulator for it. He knew he'd probably be missed fairly soon, and he knew that Patriot considered him too important to risk on field missions. Still, he didn't see how his work would do anyone any good unless a suitable power source could be found.

Homing in on the coordinates indicated in the report he'd discovered, Ian landed his craft and double-checked the seals on his thermal suit before opening the hatch. Carefully scanning the terrain with his hand-held G.P.S. unit, Ian saw that the coordinates led to a large, cliff face of solid ice.

Having reached its base, Ian quickly re-calibrated his scanner, which registered a cave-like entrance of some kind about one hundred yards up the side of the cliff. Activating his flight harness, Ian made it to the cave's supposed entrance point easily, only to find a solid wall of ice. Rubbing the surface with his hand, he quickly found that the entrance was only frozen over, blocked by a sheet of ice.

Drawing his blaster, Ian fired it at the ice wall and melted his way through it easily enough. Stepping inside, he rechecked his instruments and quickly ascertained that his blaster fire hadn't done anything to make the natural cavern unstable, as well as the fact that the cavern was some twenty miles deep. "Looks like I have a long walk ahead of me," he said to himself.

Several hours later, Ian found himself deep within the ice wall, his flight harness and night-vision goggles making the journey easier than it might have been otherwise. Finally reaching the bottom of the strange shaft, he found the ice cavern empty except for the remains of a military uniform, wrapped around a skeleton. "I guess you're the agent who filed that report," he said aloud to no one in particular.

Looking at the patch on the uniform's arm, Ian wondered what a Blackhawk was doing working for Patriot. Reaching for the man's dog tags, he read them aloud. "Ulster, Tristan."

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]**

"Ulster?" asked Bryan, his brow furrowing with speculation. "Do you think that's just a coincidence?"

"I'm afraid not," said Beckett, looking at Martin's face, wondering what he was really going through. "Tristan Ulster was his dad's name. He was an NAF pilot and a captain in the Blackhawks who died before Marty was born. Marty never really talked about him much. I guess now we know why..."

**The Moon: Justice League Academy [January 17, 2108]**

"That was a grueling workout, now wasn't it. Eh, mates?" asked Kieran rhetorically, trying to work out the kinks in his back. "Nothing but healthy food, tons of exercise, every now and then a decent brawl, but no pint afterwards. This is torture, mates. Torture!"

"Well, they do say that the first day is the worst," said Samuel, rubbing his own sore muscles. "But the instructor seems a most gentlemanly chap, even if he is a bit rough around the edges."

"Man, you're just too polite for words," said Bill, collapsed on the bench, too tired to even move. "What about you, Ulster? What's your take on Montoya?"

"Well, I..." began Martin, shrugging his shoulders.

"Ulster! In my office now!" yelled Montoya from his office, his voice booming through the walls.

"...I think he yells a lot," finished Martin, rushing off into Montoya's office. Saluting smartly, he stood attention until given leave to stand at ease.

"At ease, Ulster," said Montoya, still looking down at his paperwork. "Don't worry, I'm not hear to chew your ass. Not this time, anyway, but it'll probably happen sooner or later. By the end of the year, the entire class will probably have only half an ass left."

Martin could feel his lips trembling, the desire to laugh nearly overpowering.

"Oh, you think that's funny! You think that's...!" yelled Montoya, standing up and trying to intimidate his young student as much as possible. To his credit, Martin didn't even flinch, and Montoya was impressed. Making a show of calming himself, the instructor sat back down. "I see in your file that your father was one Tristan Ulster. Would that be Lt. Commander Tristan Jordan Ulster? Of the Blackhawks?"

"Yes, sir," said Martin, not sure where this was going, and then more emphatically, "Yes, sir!"

"I thought so," said Montoya, leaning back in his chair. "You look just like him."

"You knew my father, sir?" asked Martin, surprised by the direction that the conversation had taken.

"We go way back," said Montoya, trying to gauge his student's reaction to the news, "all the way back to O.C.S. Or at least we did. Then one day, he just up and disappeared. And he never once told me that he had a kid."

"He died just after I was born, sir," said Martin, who didn't really know much about his father beyond what his grandfather had told him.

"Is that a fact?" asked Montoya, drumming his fingers on his desk. "I didn't even know he was seeing a woman, but I guess these things happen. Just before he died, he'd been acting very strange, always out slipping out for some kind of secret meeting or other, but I suppose a relationship with a woman would account for that. At the time, there had been rumors of disloyalty, whispers of espionage."

"Sir?" asked Martin, still confused.

"One day, you're going to learn that military life is a rough business," said Montoya, finding his own words distasteful. "Nowadays, the only way to get promoted is to go after someone else's job. These things happen, but I knew your father. Rest assured that he was a good man."

"Thank you, sir," said Martin, somewhat relieved.

"Don't thank me for telling the truth," said Montoya, slightly irritated, "and don't expect any special treatment. It's bad enough I'm stuck with Gunsmith thinking he owns the place. Anyway, that's not why I called you in here. I called you in here to find out just one thing. How did you're father die?"

"Sir?" repeated Martin, again confused.

"He disappeared just before your grandfather reported him dead," said Montoya, drumming his fingers on his desk again. "No body was ever recovered, and no mention was ever made of how he died. His funeral service was more of a memorial than anything else. Tristan Ulster was a good friend, and knowing how he really died would set my mind at ease."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know," said Martin, wishing very much that he did. "I was recruited by the Justice League when I was nine years old. My grandfather never saw fit to tell me how my father died, most likely because he thought me too young to know."

Somewhat disappointed, Montoya just stared at Martin, studied him as if he were looking into his soul. Eventually, he was satisfied that Martin was telling him the truth. "Dismissed, cadet," he said, looking away and back to the papers on his desk. "That will be all."

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]**

Not sure what to make of this gentler side of the infamous Drill Instructor Montoya, Bryan could only stare wide-eyed at the holo-monitor. "Maybe the bastard wasn't so bad after all..."

**The Arctic: The North Pole [January 17, 2108]**

Checking and recalibrating his instruments for the fifth time, Ian hurled them against the wall of the cavern. "Damn it, there's nothing here! Nothing!" he screamed with frustration, shedding a few tears. "There's no hope... no hope at all..." he continued, now convinced that all of Patriot's efforts against injustice would ultimately be in vain.

Suddenly, the cavern was lit up by an emerald glow as a strange meteorite became visible, which burned with an unusual green flame. Finding himself drawn to the hovering meteorite fragment, reaching out his hand to touch it, ignoring the instinct not to burn himself. Strangely, the green flame didn't burn at all.

"WE ARE THE SPIRITS OF THE GUARDIANS OF THE UNIVERSE," said a chorus of voices in unison. Looking all around him, Ian found himself surrounded by phantasmal images of a multitude of alien creatures, short of stature, with blue skin and white hair. "THE STARHEART AND THE GREEN FLAME OF LIFE HAVE JUDGED YOU WORTHY AND YOUR QUEST HONORABLE," the strange chorus of voices continued.

Terrified by what he was seeing, Ian tried to remove his hand from the meteorite but found that he couldn't pull away. Writhing in his grasp, the meteorite started shifting its form into that of an unusual, metallic object, one that anyone from New Coast City would recognize immediately: a lantern. A green lantern.

"TAKE THE POWER BATTERY AND SERVE AS HERALD FOR HE WHO WILL FOLLOW, THE TRUE GREEN LANTERN. IN BRIGHTEST DAY, IN BLACKEST NIGHT, NO EVIL SHALL ESCAPE YOUR SIGHT. LET THOSE WHO WORSHIP EVIL'S MIGHT BEWARE YOUR POWER, GREEN LANTERN'S LIGHT!" said the chorus of voices, their words echoing ominously in the eerily illuminated cavern before the phantasmal images faded away.

"My God!" exclaimed Ian, hugging the lantern to his breast. "An Oan power battery! Enough power to fight the League! Enough power to make a real difference...!" he said, shedding a stream of tears and kneeling, humbled by the honor that had been bestowed upon him.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]**

"Holy grife!" exclaimed Bryan, not believing his own eyes. Thinking back on the furious battle that had taken place earlier that week, a battle that had left two Leaguers dead and one comatose, he couldn't help but let out a low whistle of awe.

"Yeah, it looks like that guy in the green armor really was Green Lantern..." began Beckett, concern etched upon his features.

"...and that Patriot still has access to an Oan power battery," completed Bryan. "I think being in the Justice League just got a lot tougher."

* * *

_That was a jolly sight to seene,_  
_When horsse and armour was all greene,_  
_And weapon that hee bare._  
_When that burne was harnisht still,_  
_His countenance he became right well,_  
_I dare itt safelye sweare._

- _End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #2_ -


	3. Let Those Who Worship Evil's Might Bewar...

_THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author. Quotations have been taken from the medieval poem, "THE GREENE KNIGHT," as edited by Thomas Hahn._

**GREEN LANTERN:DCF #3**  
(Year One, Part Three)

_"Let Those Who Worship Evil's Might Beware My Power"_

Written by D. David Lee  
Edited by Jason Tippitt

_"For yonder att your gates right,"_  
_He saith, "Heer is a venterous knight._  
_All his vesture is greene!"_  
_Then spake the King, proudest in all,_  
_Saith, "Bring him into the hall._  
_Let us see what hee doth meane.""_

* * *

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 1, 2112]**

Again, Martin Ulster's comatose form began to convulse, but not nearly as violently as it had during his previous episode. His eyelids indicated rapid eye movement, and his heartbeat became irregular, causing the holo-monitor to display nothing but static for a few minutes. Eventually, however, his condition stabilized.

"Why does this keep happening?" asked Bryan, his hands pressed against Martin's shoulders. The seizures were becoming easier to control, but they were also becoming much more frequent.

"I'm not sure," said Beckett, looking over meaningless data that the machinery was registering. "If I had to guess, I'd say that they're coincidental to memory jumps taking place in Marty's mind."

Just as these words were spoken, the image in the holo-monitor stabilized again, showing a very different scene.

"It looks like maybe you're right..."

**The Moon: Justice League Academy [January 15, 2112]**

Loud cheering was accompanied by the sounds of corks being popped and champagne being sprayed. Their four years of training had been grueling, to say the least, but at long last, freedom was at hand. The Class of 2112 was finally graduating.

"Woohoo! Yeehah! Humdiggity!" yelled various voices throughout the hall. Spirits were high, and self-congratulatory displays were very much the order of the day.

Martin Ulster took a few moments to warmly hug each and every one of his fellow students beginning with his closest friends, Bugmaster Blue, Mulligan, and Saracen. Thanks to Mulligan and his champagne, all of them were sticky and wet, but that hardly mattered under the circumstances.

"Justice League! Yeah!" yelled Gunsmith as Martin caught him in a powerful bear hug and lifted him up off the ground. On this special occasion, even those students he didn't particularly like were targets for his feelings of camaraderie.

Martin's next targets were the two female students in his class, both of whom he caught up together in a single, powerful hug, kissing each in turn. Both of them having opted to take Ambrosia when the Justice League recruited them, the two girls still looked like they were only fifteen-years-old, and Martin couldn't help thinking of them as little sisters.

Rainbow responded by kissing him back, using her multi-colored light powers to brighten the room. It might be true that Martin thought of her as a sister, but her feelings for him were entirely different, not that he noticed. Her real name was Caitlin Carlisle.

Siren, on the other hand, was using her power over sound to add celebratory music to the festivities, returning the warmth of Martin's hug two-fold. He loved poetry as much as she loved music, and that made Martin her closest friend amongst the male students in the class. Her real name was Agnes Ahn.

And that only left Fatboy, the one classmate that Martin couldn't quite get his arms around. Still, that wasn't really a problem, as Fatboy's arms easily wrapped themselves around Martin and heaved him up off the ground.

"We're Justice Leaguers now, boy! Say it loud, and say it proud!" yelled Fatboy, using his sizable belly to bounce Martin some twenty-odd feet away. "It's just too bad Braveheart couldn't be here with us..."

The words brought solemnity and thoughtfulness to the otherwise festive mood pervasive throughout the hall. Braveheart had been the only member of their class not to graduate. No one knew exactly why he'd been dismissed, and everyone was afraid to ask what had become of him.

"Dang it, I put my big foot in my bigger mouth again, now didn't I?" said Fatboy, looking shamefaced and pouting a bit.

"No worries, friend," said Martin. "I miss him, too."

Suddenly, a blur of motion could be seen approaching Martin from the direction of the transport chamber. "Hey, why all the long faces?" asked Velocity, putting an arm around his shoulders and striking a very-familiar cheesecake pose. "Graduating Leaguers are usually a lot happier!"

Smiling, Martin turned to give Velocity a hug as well. For some reason, she'd taken a special interest in him ever since she recruited him all those years ago. Indeed, she'd very much been the big sister he'd never had, but over the years, his feelings for her had developed into something of a powerful crush. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You didn't really think I'd miss the big day, did you?" Velocity asked rhetorically. "Congratulations, kid!" she said, tousling his hair.

"Thanks, Vel," said Martin, extremely aware of her closeness, the stares of his classmates, and the fact that she obviously still thought of him as just a kid. "Um... anything else bring you here?" he asked hopefully.

"Just more good news," said Velocity, pausing for dramatic effect. "As you know, Leaguers don't normally get assigned to their hometowns, but I pulled a few strings. Being on Hourman's squad does have its advantages. You're headed for New Coast City!"

Stunned, Martin could find no words to express his gratitude. After all these years, he was finally going back home. After all these years, he was finally going to see his grandfather again. All he could do was stand there holding her hands, bow his head, and struggle to hold back tears.

"You deserve it, kid," said Velocity, knowing full well how hard it had been for him to have been separated from his only family at such a tender young age. "Anyway, I gotta run. I'd love to stay, but you're not the only recruit I've got to see today."

That said, Velocity was gone as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving Martin to be congratulated by his classmates, all of whom understood what it meant to him to be able to go back home.

"You're going home, buddy! You're going home..."

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 1, 2112]**

Touched by the emotion of the scene before them, both Bryan and Beckett struggled yet again to hold back tears of their own.

"Braveheart?" asked Bryan, sending Beckett a puzzled look, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible. "Who the hell is Braveheart?"

"One of our classmates," said Beckett, memories flooding his own thoughts. "He called himself that because his meta genes made his skin turn blue. He was a good guy, and none of us ever knew why he was forced to leave. I wonder what happened to him?"

"Who knows? Who knows what happened to any of the guys who went through JL training, but didn't quite make it," said Bryan, shuddering visibly. "Forget it. On second thought, I don't want to know."

**NorAm: Canada, Patriot HQ [January 15, 2112]**

"Hi. Hello. How's it going? Long time, no see. Been busy, I see. What's up? Ian around?" The words popped up in various places in the room, all spoken by the same person moving from place to place at superhuman speeds.

"Hi, Anne-Marie," said Chris, hard at work on the holo-simulator. Just then, a spark from the circuitry jolted her fingers, and she had to close her eyes and count to ten to keep from cursing. "Sorry, haven't seen him."

"Shouldn't Ian be the one doing that?" asked Velocity, wondering where else he could possibly be when there were repairs that needed to be completed. Ian Marshall was many things, but an irresponsible slacker he was not.

"You know that personal project he's been working on for the past four years? The one he's been working on in his spare time?" asked Chris, who threw her hands up in despair when Velocity's body language made it clear that she had no idea what it was, either. "Well, whatever it is, he's almost done."

"Knowing Ian, it could be anything from a sonic screwdriver to a time machine," said Velocity, wondering just what it was that Ian was working on.

"Well, here's an idea," said Chris, conspiratorially. "Why don't you vibrate through the door of his lab and take a peek?"

"Sorry, girl. I know it's a pretty common speedster trick, but I still haven't quite gotten the hang of it," said Velocity, turning her a rueful grin. "Yeah, I know. It'll be the death of me someday."

As they were talking, Ian stepped out of his lab, keying his specially-constructed locking mechanism into place. He looked quite haggard and tired, but seeing Velocity brought a smile to his lips.

"Speak of the devil," said Velocity, a blur of motion headed in Ian's direction. She kissed him on the cheek and gave him a gentle hug. He'd aged a surprising amount in just twelve short years, whereas she didn't look even a day older. Apparently, life as a terrorist wasn't being very kind to him. "Are you doing okay, handsome?" she asked with some concern.

"Right as rain," said Ian, trying not to let on how tired he was or how old he actually felt. "Better, even. I'm almost finished with a new design that should turn this war around, give us a real shot at victory. In fact, I should be done with it by the end of the week."

"What is it?" asked Velocity, allowing her girlish curiosity to get the better of her. Indeed, she was surprised by how close they'd grown, especially considering the unfortunate circumstances under which they'd first met. Still, she shouldn't have been surprised at all. Ian was in fact what other men in both Patriot and the Justice League too often only claimed to be, a good and honest man trying to do the right thing.

"Sorry, Vel, but you're just going to have to wait until it's finished like everybody else," said Ian, pleased to see the playful innocence that all-too-rarely escaped her tough exterior.

Pouting, Velocity backed away from Ian as if she was upset, but burst all-too-easily into a wide grin. "All right, then. I look forward to the unveiling," she said, making her way toward the exit. "And I told you to call me Anne-Marie. Anyway, I've got to run. It's Hourman. Justice League business."

"Nothing dangerous, I hope, Ms. Godwin," said Ian, who worried often and, perhaps, overmuch about the danger that Velocity placed herself in every day.

"I won't know until I get there, but when my fiance calls, I've got to answer," said Velocity, shrugging her shoulders. "It's sweet of you to worry, but I've been doing this gig a long time. It's probably nothing the great Hourman's team can't handle, you know? I mean, what could go wrong?"

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 1, 2112]**

A hush of foreboding filled the small room as Velocity's ominous words echoed through it.

"Beck, you graduated in the middle of January, right?" asked Bryan, who couldn't take his eyes off the holo-monitor. "Wasn't that the same day that..."

"...that Velocity died," finished Beckett, remembering that fateful day when the legendary Captain Atom had returned and blasted the Statue of Liberty to nothing but rubble.

"Not just Velocity," said Bryan, who'd actually served with most of the people in Hourman's squad at one time or another. "Deathwing, Gunfire, Shado... all killed by that damned... what do they call themselves? The Suicide Squad? One of these days, all those bastards will pay!" he yelled, smacking his fist into his hand.

Beckett could do nothing but nod his concurrence. "Everyone took it pretty hard, especially Marty and Bill," he said. "Marty practically worshiped Velocity, and Bill was a lot closer to his dad than anybody thought. I mean, Gunfire never visited him even once while he was at the academy. Velocity visited Marty all the time, and they weren't even related."

"She did, did she?" asked Bryan, turning an inquisitive eye Martin's way. "I wonder why a Patriot spy would pay him so much special attention?"

"What are you trying to say?" asked Beckett, not liking what he was hearing. "Do you think Marty's a Patriot spy, too?"

"People have been tried and executed for much less," said Bryan, who was wondering just how well he really knew the man lying on the hover-gurney. "Maybe we'd be doing him a favor by leaving him the way he is now."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" said Beckett, who'd known Marty much longer than Bryan had. "Look, Marty wouldn't have anything to do with Patriot, and you should know that. Don't forget how he got this way in the first place."

Somewhat chagrined, Bryan's reserve faltered, but as squad leader, he knew his duty in this matter. "Then maybe we'd better just keep watching. If we're lucky, then Marty's memories will prove you right."

**NorAm: New Coast City Medical Center [January 16, 2112]**

Simon Ulster lay in his hospital bed waiting for the right moment to die, just as he had every day for the past twelve years. His injuries had never fully healed following the incident with the statue, and he'd been confined to a hospital bed soon after his grandson had been taken away.

Most of his bodily functions were being maintained artificially, and pain had become synonymous with living for him very quickly. His medication was effective, but an amount sufficient to dull his pain entirely would have impaired his cognitive functions, something that Simon Ulster would not allow.

Of course, the option of dying was still his. It always had been, and it always would be. He longed for death daily, but he couldn't let that happen until after he saw his grandson again. There were things that he had to know, things that only he could tell him, and he'd be damned if he was going to let himself die before that obligation was fulfilled.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ulster, but you have a visitor," said the nurse, a well-meaning young woman who wasn't old enough to really understand him. Still, her words surprised him as he almost never had visitors anymore. In fact, the only person who still did was that Justice Leaguer named Velocity.

Most people nowadays were convinced that the Justice League was incapable of compassion, but Velocity was proof of the contrary. Every few months, she always took the time to come see him and give him an update as to how his grandson was doing, and she was always had an interesting story to tell.

Her visits always lifted his spirits, and he was going to miss them terribly. The holo-news reports the previous evening had informed him of her untimely demise, and he was saddened by her loss. Even so, she had died in the line of duty, and he wouldn't disgrace her memory by grieving for her.

Still, the question remained. Who could his mysterious visitor possibly be? He racked his brains, but only one name came to mind. Looking at the doorway, he couldn't quite bring himself to hope until it opened, and a young man wearing a Justice League uniform entered.

"You... you're the spitting image of your father, boy," said Simon Ulster, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Hi, Grandpa," said Martin, struggling to keep from betraying how shocked he was at seeing his grandfather looking so old and frail.

"Well, come closer, boy, and let me get a good look at you," said Simon, reaching out his hand for Martin to take. Looking his grandson up and down, he could see that he was a strapping young man, able-bodied and strong. More than that, Martin did look almost exactly like his father, except for one detail. "You know, I never really thought about it before, but I guess you've got your mother's eyes."

"My mother?" asked Martin, somewhat surprised. As far back as he could recall, his grandfather had never once made mention of his mother. Now that he thought about it, he supposed that was quite unusual, but what was even more unusual was that he himself had never thought to ask. Why was that?

"Your father had blue eyes just like mine," said Simon, staring into his grandson's eyes, which were a brilliant shade of green. "She was probably a very beautiful woman."

"You... you don't know for sure?" asked Martin, uncertainty evident in his voice. "Didn't you ever meet her?"

Pursing his lips, Simon let out a deep breath. After all these years, the moment he'd been waiting for had finally come, and he had no idea how to go about saying what he had to say, what he'd rehearsed so many times in the past. "How do I begin...?"

Not sure how to respond, Martin just kept silent. At the moment, there were so many questions running through his mind that he didn't know which one to ask.

"I never told you how your father brought you to me," said Simon, staring at the ceiling, finding it easier to talk that way. "I pretty much thought you were too young to understand, but I always meant to tell you once you were old enough. Now, here you are, all grown-up."

Lost in his reverie, Simon started imagining that he was in another time, another place. Suddenly, it wasn't Martin standing beside his bed, but Tristan, and it was night, not day.

"It happened just like this, with me lying in bed, and Tristan appearing from nowhere at my side," said Simon, his thoughts drifting. "I remember I hadn't seen him in years. Always assumed he was on some secret mission for the Blackhawks or something, but I never did find out exactly what. At that moment, though, I didn't really care."

Closing his eyes, Simon thought back to how surprised he'd been, how happy he'd been to finally see his son again for what would turn out to be the last time.

"Do you know that he had a present for me?" asked Simon, staring off into space. "Tristan was always a thoughtful kid, and I loved him, by God! Almost as much as I loved the present he brought me. Do you know what it was, Marty?"

At a complete loss for words, Martin could do nothing but shake his head, responding in the negative. He watched as his grandfather turned to look him in the eyes again, smiling warmly.

"That gift was you, boy," said Simon, his smile widening. "You were practically newborn, probably not even a month old, but already perfect. He put you in my arms, and then he asked me to take care of you, raise you like I raised him."

"But... but who is my mother? Why couldn't he raise me himself...?" asked Martin, even more questions flooding his thoughts.

"I wish I could tell you, boy, but I can't. I just don't know," said Simon, sighing with regret. "All he told me was that your name was Martin, and that you were his son. That you had a special destiny. That you might even save the world someday. Somehow, he already knew about the powers you'd have one day, even then."

Holding Martin's hand that much more tightly, Simon suddenly found himself sobbing uncontrollably. He struggled to stop, but he found that he couldn't keep his tears from falling.

"He never told me who your mother was or what he'd been doing," began Simon, finally allowing his tears to flow freely. "When I looked up at Tristan, I looked at him closely for the first time. There was a laser burn right over his heart, boy. Your father was dead, boy, deathly pale, and he faded away right before my eyes. And just like that," he finished, snapping his fingers for emphasis, "he was gone."

Martin could see the toll that this story was taking on his grandfather, who suddenly seemed even older to him, very tired and weak. He was crying, for Godsakes, and Simon Ulster never cried. He didn't want to press him with questions that he couldn't answer, but there was one question he had to ask. "Why... why are you telling me this now?"

Smiling, Simon pulled his grandson close, hugging his head to his chest. "Lots of reasons, boy," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But I can't really call you 'boy' anymore, can I? You're a man now, and you're going to do great things, just like your father foretold."

Kissing Martin's head, Simon laid his head down on his pillow and closed his eyes, trying to completely take in the moment.

"I'm telling you this because you have a right to know," said Simon, his heart beating more quickly. "And now that you do know, you can finally go out and look for all those answers that I can't give you. I love you, Marty, but I'm tired, more tired than you can possibly imagine. Forgive me, Marty, but now that I've told you what you had to know, I can finally move on."

Not entirely comprehending, Martin lifted his head away from his grandfather's chest and turned to look at him, looking him in the eyes. The calm he saw there both frightened him and reassured him simultaneously.

"I'm finally ready to die," said Simon, who'd always wanted his grandson's face to be the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes for the last time.

A nearby machine registered Simon Ulster's words and voice print and instantly deactivated all of the artificial life support systems connected to him, simultaneously delivering a painless, lethal injection. In a matter of mere seconds, Simon Ulster lay dead, and a computerized voice was declaring the time of death.

Too moved to cry, too stunned to weep, all Martin could do was bow his head and allow his grandfather to die with grace and dignity, observing a moment of silence.

"I love you, too, Grandpa."

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 1, 2112]**

Completely resolved not to let themselves cry again, Bryan and Beckett just stared at the holo-monitor like lifeless automatons.

"Did Marty ever tell you about this?" asked Bryan, his voice noticeably soft and quiet. "He never said anything about it to me."

"Not a word," said Beckett, somewhat dumbfounded. "I thought I knew him, but I can't believe he kept this all bottled up inside without opening up to anyone. First Velocity, and then his grandfather? Can you imagine what he must have been going through?"

"Only too well," said Bryan, looking at Martin with new-found respect. "Not a word of complaint, and he never let what he was going through interfere with his duty."

Turning to face Beckett, Bryan's eyes were alight with new-found faith in his friend and the importance of saving his life.

"Maybe he has a real future in the Justice League."

**NorAm: New Coast City Cemetery [January 17, 2112]**

The funeral arrangements had been handled quickly and quietly. Simon Ulster didn't have any surviving friends or relatives other than his only grandson. Martin Ulster kneeled beneath the torch that had been lit over a century ago in honor of those who had died when the original Coast City had been destroyed.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to spend more time with you," said Martin, facing his grandfather's headstone, "but I understand why you left. I'm also sorry you didn't really get to know the man I've grown up to be, but I promise to make you proud. To protect and serve the world, and to keep it safe."

Standing at attention, Martin saluted crisply before walking away, paying no heed to the other figure in the cemetery. Only a few yards away, another man was kneeling before another grave, saying words very similar to his own.

"Hello, Amanda," said Ian, running gloved fingers over the cold marble headstone that bore the name of the only love he'd ever known. "I don't know if you know this yet, but Velocity is dead, killed while fighting for the League. She was a good friend, Amanda, maybe even as good a friend to me as she was to you."

Tracing the letters of her name with his finger, Ian moved his hand to a blank portion of the stone, carving the words 'Friend of Anne-Marie Godwin' into it, an emerald glow emanating from that hand.

"The war goes badly, you know," said Ian, picturing Amanda's face in his mind's eye. "We're so disorganized that we're doing more harm to each other than we are to the UN or the Justice League. I've heard that Patriot cells in Boston are even recruiting children. I don't think it's right, and I know you wouldn't, either."

Standing up, Ian raised his hand and closed it into a fist, his eyes closed. "What we need is a symbol to rally everyone together, something pure for everyone to believe in," he said, raising his eyes to look up at the heavens. "What the world needs is hope, and I've been blessed with the means to spark its light. That light is green."

Suddenly, Ian's body was surrounded by an emerald aura, and his clothing was gone, replaced by technological armor, bright green in color. A mask appeared over his eyes, and the familiar symbol of the Green Lantern Corps was emblazoned upon his armor's chest plate.

"Wish me luck," said Ian, and with that, he flew off into the heavens, leaving the Earth's atmosphere. His flight ended next to an old satellite, one that was over a century old but still orbiting the Earth, a remnant of the Star Wars program that had been secretly initiated by the United States government.

The original plan had been to stockpile nuclear weapons onto an orbiting satellite, missiles that could be targeted at the planet below. Mention had often been made about the inherent risks of the proposed program, the danger of radioactive material being accidentally released into the atmosphere.

Unfortunately, these warnings were given no heed until after the accidental explosion of the Space Shuttle Challenger, which made it clear that accidents could happen. Publicly, the Star Wars program had been canceled, but it had actually been replaced by something far more insidious.

At the time of its launch, the population-at-large believed it to be nothing more than a malfunctioning space telescope, but that had been nothing more than a ruse. Subsequent shuttle missions to 'repair' the satellite had in fact been necessary only to secretly install the laser components.

Under the pretext of scientific discovery and the exploration of space, a weapon had been launched into orbit, capable of raining death down on the planet. An orbiting laser, it was designed to focus rays of sunlight undiluted by a planetary atmosphere down onto the unsuspecting planet below. Indeed, it had done just that during the NAF riots of 2041.

Its continued existence was a testament to both tyranny and the violence that stems from paranoia. Just as the Statue of Liberty was a symbol of freedom, the Hubble Space Telescope was a symbol of oppression and betrayal. No longer.

A beam of emerald energy lanced from Ian's hand and enveloped the ancient piece of technology, causing its orbit to decay. Hurtling through the atmosphere, many mistook it for a falling star as it streaked towards New Coast City. Finally, it crashed into the statue of Justice that had replaced the statue of Hal Jordan in Central Park.

Taking control of a nearby communications satellite, Ian tapped into its systems, broadcasting a message that was transmitted simultaneously on every holo-vision frequency.

"People of Earth! I am here to issue an ultimatum to the United Nations and the Justice League on behalf of Patriot and the other rebel organizations that would see their tyrannical rule put to an end! Unless the Justice League is disbanded, and the vote is made universal, then this is only the beginning! I hereby declare war against Justice, the United Nations, and the Justice League!"

Causing the image to magnify, centered on his masked visage, Ian completed the speech that he'd spent so many hours preparing, the ultimatum that he would once never have even contemplated delivering.

"So says the Green Lantern!"

* * *

_When the Greene Knight came before the King,_  
_He stood in his stirrops strechinge,_  
_And spoke with voice cleere,_  
_And saith, "King Arthur, God save thee_  
_As thou sittest in thy prosperitye,_  
_And maintaine thine honor!_

- _End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #3_ -


	4. Green Lantern's Light

_THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author. Quotations have been taken from the medieval poem, "THE GREENE KNIGHT," as edited by Thomas Hahn._

**GREEN LANTERN:DCF #4**  
(Year One, Part Four)

_"Green Lantern's Light"_

Written by D. David Lee  
Edited by Jason Tippitt

_The Greene Knight his head downe layd;_  
_Sir Gawaine, to the axe he braid_  
_To strike with eger will;_  
_He stroke the necke bone in twaine,_  
_The blood burst out in everye vaine,_  
_The head from the body fell."_

* * *

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 2, 2112]**

"First the Hubble, then the Kremlin, and finally the statue of George Bush," said Bryan, shaking his head in disapproval. "That Ian guy was a pretty busy boy."

"Agreed," answered Beckett, scratching his chin. "Still, I wonder how George Bush fits into the picture. The other targets make sense to me, but... well, you're the twencen expert. How does that figure? He was President or something, right? Of the United States?"

"George Bush?" asked Bryan rhetorically, straightening up a bit as he always did when lecturing. "Yeah, he was President, and before that, he was Vice President under Ronald Reagan. Reagan was investigated by Congress for illegally selling weapons. I forget who he sold them to. Anyway, no one even asked Bush any questions."

"They didn't?" asked Beckett, somewhat incredulous. "But you always investigate the right-hand man. I mean, that's standard operating procedure?"

"Well, you have to remember that Bush was the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency before he became Reagan's Vice President," said Bryan. "I guess he pulled a few strings and got himself off the hook, enough to avoid investigation and even get elected President afterwards."

"So you're saying they investigated a former actor instead of a former intelligence agent?" asked Beckett, causing Bryan to raise his eyebrows, somewhat impressed. "What? So I know a thing or two about the twencen," he said, smiling.

"Yeah, a lot of people say Reagan was just a puppet President, and that Bush was the one pulling his strings," said Bryan, who couldn't quite keep a look of admiration from striking his features.

"Wow!" exclaimed Beckett, noting the expression on his friend's face. "You make him sound like some kind of political mastermind."

"Are you kidding? There are a lot of people out there who think he's Justice."

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [February 1, 2112]**

The squad room was filled with fresh new recruits, some nervous with anticipation and others oblivious to the tension amongst their fellows. With only a few noteworthy exceptions, the Justice League had done its best to keep the Class of 2112 together, and their first day at work was not unlike their first day at school.

"So what do you think our Squad Leader is going to be like?" asked Martin, trying to stay relaxed and look professional. "You think they'll give us anyone important?"

"Not bloody likely," said Mulligan, fighting to stay awake after a long night of partying. "Probably just some junior posterboy who's been around long enough to earn that extra button on his collar," he continued, yawning and stretching his arms.

"So you think he'll be cute?" asked Rainbow, biting her lower lip. "All the poster boys are cute, you know. I keep waiting for them to get together and form a dancing musical group. We could even call them the Poster boys!" she said with a laugh.

"Gawd, please, don't give anyone any ideas," said Siren, shuddering visibly. "Can you imagine? Hourman as lead singer? Ugh. I bet he can't even carry a note, let alone dance."

"Hmph!" exclaimed Rainbow, turning her nose up and looking away. "Fatboy would have liked my idea. He likes all of my ideas."

"Gee, I wonder why?" asked Siren, rolling her eyes and trying very hard not to notice the form-fitting tightness of Rainbow's preferred uniform. "Speaking of Fatboy, I wonder how he's doing. Anyone heard from him lately?"

"I have," said Mulligan, shaking his head ruefully. "Poor lad's got it pretty rough. Stuck with Jerusalem duty and partnered with Gunsmith. Pity him, ladies, pity all them lot."

"Why do you say that, old boy?" asked Saracen, carefully stirring milk into his morning tea. "I've always fancied visiting the holy city, and I think it a great misfortune that only unbelievers are allowed to patrol there. I, for one, would gladly trade assignments with the fortunate fellow."

Before anyone could respond, the door opened, and their new Squad Leader walked in. He was a tall man with blonde hair and blue eyes, remarkably handsome, wearing a white costume with a red cape, gloves, and boots, not to mention matching underpants. Emblazoned upon his chest was a red, triangular field, within which lay a small dot and the silhouette of a human being against the backdrop of a constellation of stars.

"Good morning. My name is Bryan Starr," he said, his teeth gleaming even in the wan light of the squad room, "but you can call me Particle Man, just like the song."

Whereas most of the people in the room just exchanged puzzled looks, Siren had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle. Quite the music buff, she was the only person who got the joke. She began to wonder whether this new Squad Leader wouldn't turn out to be so bad after all.

"Don't worry about introducing yourselves," continued Bryan, pacing the room as he'd seen Hourman do many a time while delivering a speech in this very same room. "I've already gone over your dossiers, and I know you better than you know yourselves. Just remember everything you were taught and do what I tell you, and you'll all do just fine. Is that clear?"

Not even giving them a chance to respond, Bryan turned away and continued his pacing. "Excellent. Our top priority will be the capture of this new Green Lantern who has recently declared war upon the Justice League, war against us. Justice believes that New Coast City will be his primary target. Any questions?"

"Why New Coast City?" asked Martin, wondering why they should be singled out. "Is this Green Lantern native to this city? Is there some reason why he would hold a grudge against us in particular?"

"Cu Chulainn, isn't it? Well, the answers to those questions are currently unavailable," said Bryan, giving him his full attention. "The identity of this terrorist has yet to be confirmed. However, Justice believes that we will be his primary target, and his beliefs are not to be questioned. Any other questions?"

"What are his abilities?" asked Beckett, curious as to what they would be up against. "Does he have any known weaknesses?"

"Bugmaster... Blue? An excellent question," began Bryan, still running that codename through his mind. "Our target appears to derive his powers from his armor. These powers appear to include flight, energy projection, and the ability to survive in the vacuum of space. His energy signature has been identified as Oan."

"Oan?" asked Mulligan in disbelief. "Are you saying this bloke actually is a Green Lantern? Grife! How are we supposed to stand against that kind of power?"

"Mulligan, is it?" asked Bryan, leveling a stare his way. "First of all, there's no reason to believe that this disturbed individual is genuinely a Green Lantern. Second, even if he is, many Green Lanterns have born a weakness to the color yellow or to wooden implements. Third, I'll brook no defeatist talk in my squadron. Is that clear?"

Martin elbowed Mulligan in the ribs before he coult retort, and Bryan pretended not to notice.

"Does this chap bear such a weakness?" asked Saracen in between sips of his tea. "Not to sound defeatist, but the prospect of facing a Green Lantern would be much less daunting if such a weakness could be confirmed."

"Unfortunately, there has been no opportunity to field test any of these hypotheses," said Bryan, who secretly shared their concerns. "Still, it is believed that if the target's armor can be damaged, then his powers will also be disrupted. Any more questions?"

"Most of this info can be found in the database, right?" asked Siren, looking somewhat disappointed.

"Well... yes. Yes, it is," admitted Bryan, his confidence shaking just a bit. "Why don't you download them and get them memorized while I go check in with command," he said, leaving. Once he was gone, conversation continued behind his back.

"Putz?" asked Siren, thoroughly disgusted that someone cultured enough to remember one of her favorite Nouveaux Romantic bands could be so wooden in personality.

"Yeah, but a cute putz," answered Rainbow, who grinned at her friend Siren in the most annoying fashion possible. Luckily for her, they were best friends, and Siren had learned long ago to expect such statements. "Maybe he'll lighten up on us after a while."

"Yeah, maybe..." said Mulligan, who had an 'I told you so' look plastered on his face. "Maybe once they finally remove that stick from his..."

"What's important is that he's our commanding officer, and that he deserves a certain amount of respect," said Martin, interrupting before Mulligan could complete his sentence. "So what are we going to call him behind his back?"

"Posterboy?" asked Beckett, looking from face to face and seeing no disagreement. "Then Posterboy it is," he finished, raising his hand to high five all of his friends.

"Posterboy, it is!" they all yelled in unison.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 2, 2112]**

"Posterboy?" asked Bryan incredulously. "Posterboy?"

Beckett looked his friend in the eyes and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. At a loss for words, he tried to offer an apology, but suddenly found that he could not keep a straight face and burst into a helpless fit of snickering. "I'm sorry..." he said, laughing uncontrollably.

"Stick? Putz?" continued Bryan, not quite able to grasp the concept that he'd never had the complete respect of his team. He stuttered a bit until he finally grasped a concept that he could accept. "Rainbow thinks I'm cute?"

**NorAm: Canada, Patriot HQ [February 11, 2112]**

"So do you think he'll really show?" asked Chris, excitement and anticipation evident in her tone. The new Green Lantern had contacted their branch of Patriot and arranged a meeting. Somehow, he already knew where their headquarters was located, which alarmed everyone, but the offer of an alliance between them had been too tempting to ignore.

"I don't know," said Ian, looking around at all the snipers that had been stationed. "He's got to know that we're going to be nervous and take precautions. Yellow lasers? Wooden arrows? I see we're not taking any chances."

"It just seems too good to be true," said Chris, squeezing Ian's hand. "Several major monuments destroyed, no response from the Justice League, and no innocent bystanders even so much as scratched. In just two weeks, he's accomplished more than we have in years. For someone who's declared war, his goal would seem to be peace. If he's on the level, that is."

"Do you really think he's a spy for the League?" asked Ian, trying to be nonchalant. "I mean, as you say, he's done some good, just like you said. A lot of people say his inspiration helped get that accord signed in Geneva, the one where religious leaders call for a return to autonomy and self-rule."

"And I'd be one of them," said Chris, looking at the platform where the Green Lantern was supposed to appear. "He's done more than just inspire a handful of religious, high-powered muckety mucks. He's inspired hope."

Smiling, Ian took Chris' hand in both of his before letting it go and moving off toward the platform that had been set up. She could hardly believe her eyes when he stepped onto it, wondering what he could possibly be thinking. He raised his hand and closed it into a fist, and suddenly, Ian was surrounded by a green glow in the shape of a power battery, which shrunk in on him and became a suit of armor, a suit of armor that had become very familiar of late.

"I know this may come as a shock to most of you," began Ian, the speech he'd prepared suddenly slipping his mind. "All of you know me as Ian Marshall. I've been working with you for many years now, and I believe in what we're doing, just not how we're doing it. Too many lives are lost unnecessarily. Too many battles are fought for little or no gain."

A hush fell across the landing field, all of the occupants shocked by this turn of events. Some of them felt betrayed, and others found themselves wondering just what kind of man Ian Marshall truly was. Fortunately, this confusion only lasted for a few minutes. In the end, he was still the man they'd worked with for over a decade, a man they trusted almost implicitly.

"Four years ago, I went on an expedition," began Ian, raising his voice to be heard above the sudden murmuring. "I left in search of kryptonite, and I was gone for only a day," he continued, looking directly at Chris and seeing the flicker of memory and recognition. "What I found was something much more."

Stretching forth his hand, Ian caused his power battery to appear, hovering in place before his stunned audience. "An Oan power battery," he said, allowing his gaze to sweep from one end of the field to the other. "For reasons I don't understand, the fabled Guardians found me worthy and granted me the power to make right what is now so wrong."

Just as suddenly as it appeared, the power battery was gone, and Ian rose into the air, hovering before his audience, inspiring them with confidence in his power and abilities. "Will you fight with me?" he asked.

His answer was a resounding cry, erupting throughout the landing field.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 2, 2112]**

"And that was when it began," said Bryan, pounding his fist into his hand. "A different city each week, a new Justice League squadron each time. Cleveland. Seoul. Manila. Paris. The list goes on and on."

"Which city did he hit first?" asked Beckett, sending a querying glance his friend's way. "Cleveland? It's too bad he wasn't vulnerable to yellow or wood. That way, we might have stood a chance. We might even have stood a chance if it were us against just him, but with Patriot backup, he was almost unstoppable."

"You know, I'm still not entirely clear on how Marty managed to stop him," said Bryan, looking at his friend who had paid a very high price, indeed, in exchange for his victory.

Suddenly, Martin began to convulse again, his body shaking almost uncontrollably, causing the holo-monitor to flicker.

"Damn, he's getting worse again!" yelled Bryan, rushing to grab hold of his friend and steady him. "Grife! Do something!"

"I can't!" yelled Beckett, struggling to adjust the controls and compensate for the interference. "Another injection would be far too risky! Wait... I think I've got it..."

Still agitated, Martin's body continued to twitch, but only very slightly. Behind them, the image in the holo-monitor stabilized once more.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 26, 2112]**

Alarms went off throughout the compound as Justice Leaguers rushed to their stations. Many were extremely surprised, a code red having never sounded before, an alarm that only went off if the headquarters itself was under attack. At the front gate, Particle Man's squadron emerged at the gates, only to encounter a most unsettling sight.

"I come in peace, but I will fight you if you force my hand!" yelled the Green Lantern, hovering above the compound. "Surrender, or join our cause. Turn away from the injustice you truly serve or prepare to pay the price!"

His words confused many as he appeared to be alone, but there was only one appropriate response as they'd been expecting him for quite some time. "Attack!"

Cannons mounted upon the JL HQ's battlements fired upon the solitary figure, bouncing harmlessly off the emerald force field that protected him. Still, the blasts forced Green Lantern to drop the cloak of invisibility protecting his Patriot allies, who could now be seen surrounding the compound on all sides.

"Fire!" yelled Chris in her Mark IV mecha, bringing her own weapons to bear. A few well-placed missiles reduced the JL HQ's gun turrets to rubble. The heavy weapons disabled, a pitched battle ensued between the Patriot forces and the JL security forces while Particle Man's squadron engaged Green Lantern directly.

Soaring into the air, Particle Man led the attack, flying into Green Lantern's force field at ramming speed. He collided with significant force, but insignificant results, bouncing off to place a large dent in the compound's outer wall. "His force field's too powerful!" he yelled, hoping to mobilize his squadron into concerted action. "You have to combine your powers!"

"Right!" yelled Rainbow and Siren in unison, unleashing their powers against the enemy hovering above them. Rainbow projected a stream of yellow radiance against her target while Siren joined in with her sonic buster, the combined force of which was enough to punch through the strongest of titanium alloys. Against Green Lantern's force field, the effect was minimal although he was beginning to show signs of strain.

"C'mon, lads, let's help the ladies out!" yelled Mulligan, raising his shillelagh to draw in as much of the Green Lantern's energy as he could. Cu Chulainn joined in by raising his spear and firing a series of electrical blasts that further weakened Green Lantern's shielding. Finally, Saracen raised his weapon, an enchanted throwing blade with five points, which he hurled into that same shielding, shattering it before returning to his hand, whereupon the emerald defender was struck simultaneously by multiple energy discharges.

"No!" yelled Chris, using her mecha's arm to sweep away the JL security personnel standing between her and the epic battle taking place. Pointing her arm, she launched the mecha's fist directly at Cu Chulainn, knocking him to the ground and causing his spear to explode. Bugmaster Blue responded by sending a mental blast her way, causing Chris to scream in agony before knocking her unconscious.

"Chris?" asked Green Lantern, staring dumbfound down upon his fallen friend. Enraged, he struck out against the Justice League with renewed vigor. "If you've hurt her, I'll make you pay!" he yelled, sending a lance of emerald energy arcing at Bugmaster Blue. Just before impact, it formed into a hammer, knocking him unconscious and breaking a few bones, but not killing him.

"Not bloody likely!" yelled Mulligan, triggering his power to reverse the flow of time and rushing forward to knock his friend out of the way of the blast, unfortunately becoming the target of that blast himself.

Seeing two of his squadron down, Particle Man flew at Green Lantern yet again, moving at the speed of an electron. Indeed, he even managed to put a crack in his opponent's armor, but he knocked himself out in the process.

Trying to take advantage of the opening, Rainbow used her multi-colored light powers to form a solidified ring around Green Lantern and force him to the ground. Unfortunately, he was too strong for her, easily bursting through the bonds that she had created.

Forming a hand with his emerald energy, Green Lantern grabbed hold of Rainbow and moved her into the path of Siren's sonic attack, knocking her unconscious almost instantly, her entire nervous system fried. Stunned at what she'd done, Siren left herself completely open to attack, and she quickly became the victim of the same attack that had felled Mulligan.

Saracen rushed to Rainbow's aid, using his sorcerous abilities to heal his fallen comrade while Bugmaster Blue kept Green Lantern busy with a focused mental blast, causing him to scream in agony but not quite knocking him out. Focusing his own powers, Green Lantern somehow reversed the direction of Bugmaster Blue's attack, causing him to knock himself out.

Cu Chulainn could see that Green Lantern was still disoriented from Bugmaster Blue's mental assault and attempted to capitalize on that advantage. Looking for a weapon, he grabbed Mulligan's shillelagh and leaped toward the hovering form of Green Lantern, swinging with all his might. The sun high in the sky and Cu Chulainn's aim true, the crystal orb at the head of the shillelagh shattered against Green Lantern's armor where Particle Man had cracked it earlier, releasing the Oan energy that it had previously absorbed.

A burst of uncontrolled emerald energy spread throughout the entire compound, knocking everyone unconscious, Patriot and Justice League alike.

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 2, 2112]**

"He's crashing!" yelled Bryan as Martin's convulsions became even more violent. Behind them, the holo-monitor actually exploded due to an overload of energy.

"Grife!" cursed Beckett, abandoning the machinery to go to Martin's side and begin administering C.P.R. "Grife! We're losing him!"

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 26, 2112]**

The emerald energy washed over both Martin and Ian, but for some strange reason, it failed to knock either of them unconscious. Even stranger, Martin suddenly found himself hovering beside his opponent, even though the power to fly had never been his.

Ian released yet another hammer blow, this one directed at Martin. Instead of being harmed, however, Martin's body simply absorbed the energy, making him feel even stronger than he ever had before. Flying at his opponent, he responded with a series of punches that further widened the crack in Ian's armor.

"How can this be?" asked Ian, seeing that his power was of no use against his young opponent. Resorting to fisticuffs, Ian struggled to keep Martin from harming him further, but the boy was too strong, even for his powered systems. "Who are you? What are you? Why do you fight against me?"

"I'm a Justice Leaguer!" yelled Martin, pulling his hand free of Ian's and driving it through his chest plate. "That's all you need to know!"

"Don't you know that you're fighting on the wrong side?" asked Ian, gasping for breath, his mask disappearing completely, revealing him for who he really was. "You're just a kid. You don't know what I know. You haven't seen what I've seen..."

"I fight for what I believe in!" yelled Martin, grabbing at circuitry within the armor and crushing it. "I fight for a world free of anarchy!"

"You're too... young... to know what your beliefs are..." said Ian, struggling to remain conscious. "Too young to understand what you're beliefs should be... please... take some advice from an old man..."

"I already have," said Martin, pulling his hand back out of the armor and tearing circuitry and various sub-components away with it. "But the old man I'm listening to isn't you."

All of the Oan energy still contained within Ian's armor was suddenly released and absorbed by Martin's body. Ian's armor short-circuited, sending mega volts of electrical energy coursing through Ian's body and causing his heart to stop. The anti-gravity systems failed, and Ian crashed to the street below, his neck breaking as a result of the fall.

"And so it ends," said Martin, lowering himself to the ground. Unfortunately, his words did not ring true. As soon as the Oan energy from Ian was completely absorbed, he found himself besieged by the older man's memories: his past, his thoughts, his hopes and dreams.

"No!" he yelled, collapsing onto the ground. "It's too much! It's too much!"

**NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [May 2, 2112]**

Time suddenly seemed to stand still as Martin Ulster regained consciousness. Above him, his friends Bryan and Beckett were frozen in time, in the middle of life-saving procedures that were apparently being administered upon him.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hello," responded a short blue figure with stark white hair, dressed in a red robe bearing the Green Lantern symbol. "I knew that it would take time for you to completely integrate Ian's memories, but I hadn't expected it to take quite so long. Feeling better?"

"I think so," said Martin, still trying to reconcile his own memories with those of Ian Marshall. "He was so dedicated... and we had so much in common. Fighting for a better world... trying to uphold the wishes and memories of lost loved ones."

Burying his face in his hands, Martin allowed unbidden tears to flow down his face. "Even Velocity," he continued. "Anne-Marie... I can't believe she was a double agent..."

"Indeed," said the strange alien figure, "you shared many losses. Many triumphs. Many defeats."

Suddenly aware of the bizarre nature of the situation, Martin stared at the figure addressing him, as confused as he had ever been. "Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"Can't you guess?" asked the alien figure, smiling for the first time since their conversation began. "My name is Ganthet, and I am the last surviving Guardian of the Universe. And I am here for you, Martin Ulster."

Still confused, Martin stared at Ganthet, somewhat dumbfounded. "Were you one of the spirits that appeared to Ian?" he asked.

"No, I survived. "I'm the last surviving Guardian of the Universe," he repeated, slightly irritated. "Please try to pay attention."

"I'm sorry," said Ian, not knowing what else to say.

"Very good. Now listen to what I have to say," began Ganthet, warming up to his tale. "As the sole surviving Guardian of the Universe, it has been my responsibility to ensure that a Green Lantern exists to carry on our legacy. I have neglected this responsibility since Kyle Rayner, my last charge was murdered by another who also once bore the same mantle. Since that time, I have watched as this world of yours fell into ruin."

Trying to gauge Martin's reaction to his tale and noting the look of wonder, Ganthet was pleased. Looking into his eyes, Ganthet continued his tale.

"I was not being idle but laboring hard to correct the mistakes that have been made by the Guardians in the past. How could I insure that the next Green Lantern would not die before leaving others to carry on his legacy? How could I insure that he would not become another Parallax? These questions plagued me for many years, but finally I divined their answers."

"Answers?" asked Martin, wide-eyed.

"Don't interrupt," said Ganthet, who had begun pacing. "As I was saying, I finally divined their answers. The flaw in all our past endeavors with the Green Lantern Corps was the ultimate desire of the Guardians to remain in control. We were sources of unbelievable power, but for too long, we set ourselves apart from those we had sworn to protect, denying ourselves compassion. Indeed, we denied ourselves passion of any kind."

Locked in his reverie, regret was clearly etched upon the Guardian's features.

"We created the Green Lantern Corps to free ourselves of the responsibility of protecting the universe, but we insisted on remaining in control. Instead of imbuing them with power directly, we gave them rings that could be taken away. We forced them to rely on power batteries to maintain that power, and even arbitrarily assigned a vulnerability to the color yellow, a weakness that we did not share ourselves. Kyle Rayner died because I forced him to rely upon a ring instead of imbuing him with power that could not be taken away."

Looking Martin in the eyes to emphasize, Ganthet continued.

"We recruited people from other worlds to serve because of their capacity for passion and compassion, capacities that we no longer shared, but our cardinal law was for our Green Lanterns to deny those same feelings and constantly keep them under control. Perhaps we simply found the expression of that ability to feel distressing or distasteful somehow? I can no longer say, but I can say that it was this need for control and our inability to feel compassion that resulted in our own ultimate downfall."

"When Hal Jordan became Parallax," said Martin, drawing a nod of concurrence from Ganthet.

"In our hubris, we expected him to be as devoid of compassion as we were, to obey our orders without question. And when he turned against us, we ordered our other soldiers to slay him, rather than try to understand his suffering. Jordan's intent was to gather all of Oa's power and go back in time to prevent the destruction of Coast City or any subsequent events from taking place. Perhaps if we had taken the time to explain that his plan could not work instead of merely disallowing his intent, none of that misfortune would have transpired. Still, Hal Jordan redeemed himself when he sacrificed himself to defeat the sun-eater and restore the sun."

Sighing audibly, Ganthet paused before continuing.

"But enough of the past. As I said, I finally divined the means to prevent such tragedies from ever happening again, and it's ridiculously simple. All that needs to be done is for me to relinquish control. Having made that decision, I programmed the Starheart to call someone worthy so that I could directly imbue that person with power. The man who was called was Tristan Ulster."

"My father?" asked Martin, awe registering in his voice.

"Yes," said Ganthet, raising his eyebrows to express annoyance. "Please pay attention. Once he arrived, I offered him the power of the Green Lanterns, the power to shape this very world in his image. Do you know how he responded?"

Having no idea, Martin just shook his head, unable to even guess.

"He refused," said Ganthet, giving Martin a look of amazement. "The journey to the Starheart had been long and grueling, and he'd injured himself mortally during the climb down the ice cavern, and still he refused. Having served the United Nations for too many years and betrayed it to serve Patriot too late in life, Tristan Ulster claimed that he lacked the wisdom to use such power wisely. He claimed that he could see good and evil on both sides of the conflict, that he would not know which side to fight for, but he offered me another solution."

Looking extremely impressed, Ganthet continued his tale.

"Your father suggested that I imbue a child with the Green Lantern's power at gestation, allow him to grow to adulthood, and then choose his own side, saying that he wished it could be his own son that would be given that honor," said Ganthet, smiling broadly. "Tristan Ulster had no child, had no wife, but I decided to grant his wish. Removing genetic material from his body, I caused it to gestate within the Starheart itself, maturing quickly until a perfect infant was formed. That infant was you."

"And you let him send me to be raised by my grandfather..." said Martin, trying to assimilate the information being passed to him.

"Indeed," said Ganthet, placing a hand on Martin's shoulder. "We allowed him to deliver you to your grandfather and then pulled him back to the ice cavern, where he asked me to promise that you would have the wisdom to choose where he could not. Indeed, I have watched you grow from afar, not without undue pride, but I was surprised by your induction into the Justice League at such a young age. I suddenly found myself in the unenviable position of having to figure out a way to keep my promise to your father, grant you the wisdom to understand both sides of the conflict taking place on this world."

"And that's when you dragged Ian into this..." said Martin, moaning with regret.

"Indeed," repeated Ganthet. "I ordered the Starheart to call forth a worthy member of Patriot to serve as your herald, be the man who would provide you with the experience that you lack. His memories are now yours. His experiences will guide you for the rest of your life."

"I know," said Martin, focusing his thoughts. "I can remember everything he did, all the events of his life, all his sufferings and joys. I even know everything he did about engineering and design. I can't believe I killed him..."

"Believe me when I say that Ian Marshall didn't care about dying as died for something that he believed in," said Ganthet, being as reassuring as possible for one of his kind. "His memories and experiences may be yours, but his soul has passed on. Rest assured that he is now at peace."

"Yeah, I know," said Martin, his new memories agreeing with Ganthet's pronouncement. "What happens now?"

"Now? Now, we say goodbye," said Ganthet, a peaceful look in his eyes. "Born in the Starheart, your body's cellular structure is designed to absorb and process Oan energy. For all intents and purposes, you are a living and sentient power ring in all but form. All these years, you thought your body was powered by the sun, but it was actually being powered by the Oan energy that Hal Jordan used to rekindle it. So far, your use of this power has been limited, but direct contact with that energy has awakened new abilities within you. You have only to call upon your power battery to replenish that power."

"My battery?" asked Martin, confused. "What about Ian's battery? What about all those Patriot forces who were knocked unconscious during the battle? Were they all captured?"

"You needn't concern yourself with them," said Ganthet. "I sent all of Ian's comrades back to their base in Canada before anyone on either side of the battle regained consciousness. As for Ian's power battery, I have sent it along with the Starheart into the heart of this planet's sun."

"And what about you?" asked Martin, wondering where Ganthet was going. "What will happen to you?"

"I will go to join my fellow Guardians," said Ganthet, somewhat wistfully. "My time has come to an end, and your time is just beginning. I have watched you and judged you and found you worthy. Like Arthur of fabled Camelot, you will head a new era in the universe. I will pass on to the next world, and my power will become yours."

"Like King Arthur?" asked Martin, who had always had a fondness for medieval poetry. "But I never wanted to be king. I never wanted to be anything more than a knight like Sir Gawaine..."

"And that is why you have been deemed worthy to be Merlin," said Ganthet, starting to fade from view and passing into Martin, allowing his power to merge with that of the chosen heir to his legacy. "Farewell and fare well."

**EPILOGUE:**

"Power battery... Ian... Ganthet..." mumbled Martin, tossing and turning a bit as his eyes opened and he bolted upright on the hover-gurney.

"Marty? Marty, are you okay?" asked Beckett, smiling as his friend regained consciousness. "He's awake! He's alright!"

"Well, it's about time," said Bryan, smiling cheerfully. "You had us worried for a minute there, bud. Nice to see you back amongst the living. Do you remember what happened?"

"I think so," said Martin, standing up and nearly losing his footing. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Whoa, there, buddy. Take it easy!" exclaimed Beckett, trying to help steady his friend. "You've been in a coma for three days. Don't overdo it, okay?"

"Can you help me get outside?" asked Martin, stumbling towards the door.

"Of course!" exclaimed Bryan, smacking himself in the forehead. "You need sunlight to get better! C'mon, buddy, we'll both help you out."

As they led him through the halls, word quickly spread to other members of his squadron that he was up and about.

"Marty?" asked Caitlin, rushing up to give him a hug and a kiss.

"Thank goodness you're okay, mate!" exclaimed Kieran, patting him on the back.

"Good show, old chap!" yelled Samuel, pleased to see his friend up and about.

"I was worried you wouldn't wake up..." said Agnes, hugging him as well, tears in her eyes.

"Takes more than that to keep me down," said Martin, trying to be cheerful.

Together, his friends led him outside, where the sun's rays revitalized him, making him feel better as soon as they caressed his skin. Still, it felt different somehow, and suddenly, he knew what had to be done.

"Marty, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Marty, looking at his friends' faces one by one, "but I'm going to miss you guys terribly."

Raising his hand towards the sun, Martin then spoke aloud a poem that his grandfather had started teaching him as soon as he'd learned to talk, words familiar to any resident of New Coast City.

_"In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night,_  
_No Evil Shall Escape My Sight_  
_Let Those Who Worship Evil's Might_  
_Beware My Power, Green Lantern's Light!"_

As soon as the words were spoken, Martin's body became aglow with the power of Oa, and he rose gently into the air. Extending his hand towards his friends, he caused beams of emerald energy washed over them, altering their memories so that they would think him dead and remember him differently. In their mind's eyes, he replaced his own face with that of Ian Marshall as a young man. That same energy washed over the compound that he'd called home, rewriting records of him in all connected systems to reflect those same changes.

Knowing that his path no longer lay with his friends, Martin Ulster flew into the air and sped away, gone in the blink of an eye.

"Farewell and fare well."

* * *

_Now leave wee the King in his pallace._  
_The Greene Knight come home is_  
_To his owne castle._  
_This folke frend when he came home_  
_What doughtye deeds he had done._  
_Nothing he wold them tell._

- _End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #4_ -


	5. Class Reunion

_THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.  
_

**GREEN LANTERN:DCF #5**

_"Class Reunion"_

Written by David Lee  
Edited by Alex Cook

**NorAm: New York City, "Warriors" [January 15, 2113]**

The crowd at the most famous bar in all of NorAm was unusually thin and quiet this evening. Most of the regulars were making a point of avoiding the place, and the current patrons consisted almost entirely of tourists who wanted to have a holophoto taken with the great Guy Gardner. For his part, Guy was most displeased by this state of affairs, but he had no one else to blame but himself.

Some ten months earlier, some college kids had called to book "Warriors" for their one-year class reunion. Having had a soft spot for kids, and having been offered an obscene amount of money, Guy had decided to let their dream come true. After all, he'd had every intention of paying Tim Drake back every cent he was owed. Unfortunately, these so-called college kids had failed to mention that they were recent graduates of the Justice League Academy.

By the time Guy had found out the truth, he'd already spent the advance he'd received, and it really wouldn't have been fair to back out of the deal at so late a stage, no matter how real the possibility was that his treasured place of business would be nothing more than a pile of rubble by evening's end.

"How the hell do I get myself into these messes?" said Guy aloud to no one in particular. Everyone in the bar, as few as they were, heard him quite clearly, but most of them had no idea what he was talking about. If they had, they would most likely have chosen to spend their evening somewhere else, someplace that would be more safe.

On the other hand, Martin Ulster was anything but worried. Indeed, he couldn't recall another time when he'd been this excited about anything. With luck and a little help from Guy, his days of wandering would soon be at an end, and New Coast City would once more become his home. In just a few short hours, he'd be with his friends again, the only real friends he'd ever known.

**NorAm: New York City  
**

As a general rule, New Yorkers are not easily frightened. Jaded by life in the big apple, they are rude and crude more often than not, and they never back down for tourists. However, every rule has an exception.

The crowds marching along New York City's busy side streets parted meekly for the large, black man striding confidently among them. They took one look at his muscular, seven-foot-tall frame, shaved head, and dark suit and diverged around him and his friends as the Red Sea had parted before Moses, quickly averting their eyes as this giant walked past.

"You know, I'll just never understand why people insist on treating me in this insufferable manner," said Saracen with a polished British accent that would do any diplomat proud. "I mean, do I really appear to be all that menacing?"

"Let's just say that ye take some getting used to," said Mulligan, not bothering to hide a smirk. "Not that it isn't rude, mind ye. It is, but these Americans have no bloody refinement whatsoever."

"I resent that," said Bugmaster Blue, pushing his glasses back into place on the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, we'd better get a move on. Fatboy and Gunsmith are probably already there with the girls, and Agnes and Caitlin might never forgive us if we take too much longer."

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Mulligan, raising his shillelagh dramatically. "Never let it be said that Kieran O'Kennedy kept the ladies waiting too long. Besides, I'm dying for a pint. Let's hope this Warriors place carries stuff what's drinkable."

"You're worried about the quality of the refreshments?" asked Saracen, one eyebrow raised. "I thought the point of having this gathering at Warriors was to meet Guy Gardner and pretend to be his twencen cronies for an evening?"

"I don't know about you guys, but I have every intention of getting an autograph," concurred Bugmaster Blue, holding his holopad up for all to see. "Guy Gardner has always been something of an idol of mine, ever since I was a kid. He still is."

For his part, Mulligan could understand why his friends were excited about meeting Guy Gardner and getting to see the famous drinking establishment known as Warriors. Still, he would never be able to accept the fact that they cared nothing about the quality of what they would soon be forced to drink.

"Bloody heathens."

**NorAm: New York City, "Warriors"  
**

The arrival of the Justice League Academy Class of 2112 caused quite a stir, but not in the way that Guy had expected. Indeed, they arrived in plainclothes, dressed like any other ordinary group of kids out for a night on the town, and Guy might have ignored their arrival completey had not one of them caused a scene by falling to his knees and bowing repeatedly with arms upraised before him.

"Saints be praised!" exclaimed Mulligan, tears streaming down his face. "They've Guinness on tap! They've Guiness on tap! Lord in heaven, they've Guinness on tap!"

"Great, another Irishman," said Guy, taking the time to pour the man as perfect a pint as he could and placing it on the counter before him. "What is it with you Irish and Guinness? You're the third one to do that this month."

"I'm afraid Guinness hasn't made it as far as New Coast City," said Bugmaster Blue, snapping a quick holo-image of Kieran bowing before Guy with his camera for posterity. "And yes, my friend Kieran here is Irish, a bit too Irish at times if you get my meaning. Anyway, my name is Beckett. Beckett Baker? I believe you've been expecting us. Has the rest of our class arrived yet?"

Just as these words were spoken, four more individuals arrived arm-in-arm. The two girls looked none-too-pleased by it, but the two men had wide smiles on their faces. The rest of the Class of 2112 had arrived.

Siren and Rainbow looked quite elegant in their Keravin prom dresses, and even Fatboy and Gunsmith looked more than presentable in their tuxes. Indeed, the year they'd spent on duty in Jerusalem had changed them very little, except for the fact Fatboy seemed even larger and that Gunsmith had grown some very long sideburns.

Soon, they were all shaking hands and clapping each other on the back, greeting each other with warm smiles. Only a year had passed since they were all students complaining about Montoya's physical training classes, but it seemed like ages.

"Boy, are you guys a sight for sore eyes," said Gunsmith, who couldn't quite believe that he was back in NorAm again. "Those Jerusalem women are enough to make you want to convert to Christianity."

"Way to ruin the moment," said Bugmaster Blue, stifling a groan. Simultaneously, Rainbow and Siren punched Gunsmith in the ribs in accordance with that sentiment. "Anyway, now that we're all here, why don't we get this reunion party going."

"I'll second that," said Mulligan, hunched over his pint of Guinness, staring wide-eyed as it settled. "Pints for everyone, Mr. Gardner, if you please."

"Aren't you girls a little young to be drinking?" asked Ollie, Guy's assistant for the night. He couldn't quite help noticing the eyes that Siren and Rainbow were making at him, and he felt obligated to make conversation. After all, that's what bartenders did.

"Appearances can be deceiving," said Rainbow, giggling just a bit. "Isn't Ambrosia a wonderful thing?"

In point of fact, Ollie, better known as Dragon of the erstwhile Suicide Squad, owned the company that produced the drug known as Ambrosia that slows the aging process. Naturally, this made him an expert on the drug's effects, as well as one of the wealthiest men in the world, not that he had any intention of mentioning it.

"What made you decide to take Ambrosia at such a young age?" asked Ollie, who'd been giving some thought to regulating its distribution. "I mean, your friends obviously haven't been taking it or only recently started."

"They're guys," answered Siren, batting her eyelashes for the briefest of moments. "They prefer to get past that gangly and awkward stage first. We girls prefer to stay young and cute as long as possible."

"Not to mention the victims of raging, teenage hormones," said Rainbow, beaming Ollie the most alluring smile she could manage. "Wait a minute! I know you, you're Oliver Hawke! Your company makes Ambrosia!"

"Wow, handsome and rich," said Agnes, turning on the girlish charm full stream. "And he even knows how to pour drinks!"

For his part, Ollie just smiled back and did what he could to remain distant. The last thing he needed after his breakup with Eve was to become romantically involved with a Justice Leaguer. Leaning towards Guy's ear, he whispered a few words into them.

"Well, here's another fine mess you've gotten me into."

Guy just groaned and wondered how long Ollie had been waiting to say that. Still, Guy had his own problems. Almost anything was better than listening to this Bugmaster Blue person go on and on about how much he worshiped the ground that he walked on.

"Seriously, Mr. Gardener, sir. You were one of my idols as a boy," said Bugmaster Blue, paging through his holographic tablet of Guy Gardner memorabilia. "I think I can honestly say that you're an inspiration to freckle-faced boys everywhere."

To his side, Guy could hear Ollie snickering, which didn't help. Fighting the urge to transform his arm into a gun and shoot someone, he tried to change the topic of conversation.

"So what's with the sideburns?" asked Guy, looking at Gunsmith. "As far as I know, they haven't been in style since I was a teenager. Don't they teach proper history at the academy?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Gunsmith, suddenly very self-conscious. "You don't think they're cool and retro? And what does my knowledge of history have to do with anything?"

"My friend, Hob Gadling, has a saying about people with long sideburns," said Guy as he wiped down the counter of the bar with a rag. "Those who do not remember the mistakes of history are doomed to repeat them."

Guy's words were greeted with laughter from all around as Gunsmith became very red in the face. Mulligan even went so far as to snort some Guinness from his nose.

Just then, Guy's other helpers emerged from the kitchen with trays of food for the buffet table, and the music kicked in, "Papa Gene's Blues" by the Monkees.

"Dinner is served," said Tara, trying very hard to be pleasant. It was bad enough that Guy had decided to force humility on her by making her wait tables, but he'd also insisted that she wear a name tag for this particular occasion, which she considered the ultimate indignity.

"Yeehah! Chow's on!" exclaimed Fatboy, making his way over to the buffet table as quickly as he could, which was surprisingly fast. "You got any chitlins or collared greens in there, baby cakes?"

Obviously, Tara had been mistaken. She was about to retort against this villainous treatment when Gunsmith asked her to dance.

"Hey, sweet thang," began Gunsmith, putting an arm around her shoulders and blowing into her ear. "Would you like to dance?"

"My name is Tara. Can't you read?" she asked, shrugging his arm off of her shoulder. She couldn't believe that one of these Justice League idiots was hitting on her, let alone the one with the long sideburns. Even worse, he was asking her to dance to the most hillbilly-sounding of Guy's favorite songs. He obviously had no taste or class at all.

"Hey, Tara. You can call me... Darvey," said Gunsmith, who'd made a habit of not revealing his real name to potential dates. Being Bill Gates III, heir to the TrumpGates fortune, had its benefits, but it also made dating extremely complicated.

"Anyway, I'm not allowed to dance with the customers," said Tara, coolly refusing to make eye contact with her would be suitor and turning up her nose. "It's one of Guy's policies. If you insist on circumventing it, then you'll have to take the matter up with him."

Gunsmith considered doing just that, but the look that Guy was giving him from behind the bar changed his mind very quickly. "Wouldn't want to offend the host."

In the meantime, everyone else had grabbed plates of food from the buffet table and sat back down at the bar, except for Fatboy, who continued to hover over it. Mulligan was already working on his eighth pint, and Saracen was tapping his foot to "I'm a Believer," another Monkees song.

"So what do you think of life in the twenty-second century, Mr. Gardner?" asked Bugmaster Blue, eager to make as much small talk with one of his boyhood heroes as he could. "Do you think people are just as industrious as they were back in the twencen, or do you think people are lazier and more dependent on modern conveniences."

"Enough with the Mr. Gardner stuff," said Guy, pouring Mulligan yet another pint. "You're not my kids so you can call me Guy. As for whether people have gotten lazier, I wouldn't exactly say..."

Guy was interrupted by the clatter of many metal objects upon the floor. He looked towards the buffet table where Chet, Julio, Derik, and Jean were busily gathering fallen utensils, and Fatboy was looking embarrassed.

"Dang it! Me and my big belly done gone and caused trouble again," said Fatboy, looking sheepish and scratching the back of his head. "Sorry 'bout that. Guess I'm just too big for my own good."

"No harm done," said Jean, taking the collected sporks back to the kitchen. "I'll just grab some more. Be right back."

"Um, no comment," said Guy in answer to Bugmaster Blue's original question.

"Point taken, Guy," said Bugmaster Blue, thrilled to be on a first name basis with his boyhood hero. "And please, call me Beckett."

"Kieran," said Mulligan, raising his pint in a toast.

"Sammy," said Saracen, extending a hand. "You know, this music is quite wonderful. I've never heard anything quite like it."

Needless to say, Saracen was the first person to ever say anything like this to Guy in recent history. Guy was tickled pink, but even he blinked twice. Ollie and everyone else at the bar directed funny looks at Saracen.

"You really like the Monkees?" asked Guy, hardly daring to believe his own words. "Most people just listen to it because I don't give them a choice."

Ollie and the rest of the kids bobbed their heads in unison whereas the rest of the Class of 2112 raised their collective eyebrows. Guy and Saracen just ignored them.

"There's poetry in the lyrics and magic in the music," said Saracen, closing his eyes to better appreciate what he was hearing. "Indeed, I believe that it could inspire a most powerful dance."

"You mean like the Great Ghost Dance of the Native Americans?" asked Ollie, trying to be conversational.

"Or the Dance of the Seven Veils?" asked Gunsmith, who'd become quite enamored with it during the past year. Rainbow and Siren both started giggling, and the guys started chuckling as well.

"No, he must mean the Drunken Irish Iceberg Dance," said Mulligan, allowing yet another pint to slide down his throat. This last comment drew roars of laughter from just about everyone, including Guy's staff, who had recently seen the movie 'Titanic' at Guy's insistence. Even Guy laughed, which was rare when someone was making fun of the Monkees.

"Grife, Kieran! How many pints is that you've had so far?" asked Saracen, who'd stopped counting at eight.

"Twenty-four hours in a day, and twenty-four beers in a case. That's the way it was in the twencen, and that's the way it still is now. Coincidence, mate?" asked Mulligan, happily looking from face to face. "I think not, and I've a lot of catching up to do."

None could gainsay him, and they all raised pints of their own as Guy made an unexpected toast. "To the Class of 2112."

"To the Class of 2112!" they all cried in unison.

"And to Martin Ulster," said Kieran more somberly, raising another full pint. "In memory of the only member of the Class of 2112 who didn't survive to see this day. May he rest in peace."

"To Martin Ulster," they all said, raising their pints high before throwing back their heads to drain them dry in a single draught.

Off in his own corner of the bar, Martin Ulster raised his pint as well, looking on longingly. They were his friends, and he missed them desperately, just as they, apparently, still missed him. Even so, he kept to himself the entire time that they were there, knowing that it would be inappropriate to join them.

Martin watched them laugh and dance, smile, and make new friends. Maybe they were Justice Leaguers, but they were also people with the same hopes and dreams as anyone else. Too often, people forgot that nowadays, allowing their own hopes and dreams for the future to be shattered.

"To the Class of 2112."

**NorAm: New York City, "Warriors"  
**

Hours later, after the festivities had ended and the staff had gone to bed, Guy was taking his nightly stroll in the Lantern Lounge as was his habit. He loved walking through the place because of the memories that it had for him. Indeed, he could hardly believe that he'd even considered donating its contents to some curator named Leeds early in the previous year. He was gazing fondly at Arisia's statue when he suddenly noticed the reflection of a stranger in the glass protecting it. Indeed, he was so stunned that he accidentally crushed the empty pint glass that he'd just drained.

"Who the frag are you?" exclaimed Guy, accidentally crushing a glass to mere shards. He wasn't easily surprised, and the Drake Industries security system was supposedly state-of-the-art.

"I'm sorry if I startled you, Mr. Gardner," said Martin, extending a hand. "My name is Martin Ulster, and I was wondering whether I could talk to you for a bit. I was hoping you could give me some advice."

"About what? And how did you get in here?" asked Guy, looking Martin over. He sized him up rather quickly. Muscular, fit, and very athletic, there was a stern aspect to his bearing that made Guy think he was a soldier, but there was also timid look in his eyes that indicated something else. "Wait a minute, did you say Martin Ulster? Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," said Martin with a smile, fighting off a sudden bout with indecision. "I'm sorry. I guess humor really isn't appropriate to this situation. Maybe it would be better to start over at the beginning?"

Guy raised an eyebrow quizzically as the young man before him seemed to steel himself, take a deep breath, and then extend a hand again.

"Hello, Mr. Gardner. My name is Martin Ulster, and I'm the new Green Lantern. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

**NorAm: New York City, "Warriors"**

Several hours had passed before Martin had finished telling Guy the whole story. Skepticism had been followed by calculated disbelief followed by wary acceptance. A demonstration in which Martin repaired the glass that had been broken did much to make Martin's story more believable.

"Let's say I believe this story that you're telling me," began Guy, doing his best to maintain a skeptical bearing. "Why come to me? I mean, if you have all the knowledge and experience of Ganthet, shouldn't you be able to figure this stuff out by yourself?"

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," said Martin, shrugging his shoulders. "The knowledge comes and goes as I need it, and not always. It's there, but it's not really mine yet, at least not until my mind develops enough to handle it. That probably shouldn't take more than a century or two."

"Makes sense, I guess," said Guy, rubbing a thumb along the side of his jaw. "Anyway, I suppose it can't hurt to give you a little advice. What do you want to know?"

"Where do I begin?" muttered Martin, having no idea what to ask first. "I guess it's just the weight of the responsibility. I mean, knowing how to use it comes naturally. It's actually something that I was born to do. The problem is knowing how to use it wisely."

"I can only imagine," said Guy, a low whistle passing his lips. "I mean, if your story's true, then you've got more power than any other Green Lantern that's ever been, except maybe Hal. That pretty much means you can do anything you want."

"And more," said Martin, extending a hand palm upwards. Suddenly, there was a bright green flash and a power ring was lying in that hand. This was followed by more flashes and the appearance of even more rings, and then, just as suddenly, they were all gone.

The act was performed very casually, but it frightened Guy as little ever had. He could sense in his bones that the power rings were real, that the young man before him had the power to create an unstoppable army in addition to personal power that dwarfed that of most, if not all, of Earth's heroes.

"But what do I do with it?" asked Martin, clenching that extended hand into a fist. "I could destroy Justice and the League and let Patriot take over, or I could force Patriot to give themselves up or expose them to the League. The problem is, I have no idea which side to take."

"Well, I don't think you should take sides at all," said Guy, who could easily envision any action taken by this young man causing more problems than it solved. "You asked my advice, and my advice is that you take things slow. In time, you'll figure this all out for yourself."

"But what should I do in the meantime?" asked Martin, feeling despondent and directionless. "Won't I ever be allowed to have friends? Call a place home?"

"Well, let me ask you this..." began Guy, putting a hand on Martin's shoulder. "It's been what? Six months since you faked your death and abandoned the League? What have you been up to since then?"

"Mostly, I've just been wandering around aimlessly," said Martin with a sigh. "Oh, I've rescued the occasional cat stuck up a tree and run into my share of other metas from time to time. Mostly though, I've just been traveling from place to place, seeing what the world is like, basically wasting my time."

"I wouldn't say that," said Guy, wishing he had a full pint in his hand. Suddenly, he did, and Martin had one, too. He looked like he needed one. Trying not to look startled, he continued. "Sounds to me like you've been pretty busy seeing how ordinary folks live, people without super powers or meta-human abilities."

"Is that important?" asked Martin, a confused expression on his face.

"More important than most people realize," said Guy, trying to look serious. "From what you've told me, you haven't had much in the way of a normal childhood and little or no contact with ordinary people. It's important that you do what you can to make up for that. Otherwise, you might end up like a certain misanthrope from Gotham City I used to know."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," said Martin, his mood brightening at the thought that he'd been spending his time productively after all. "So you think I've been getting in touch with the common man, trying to get a feel for life as a normal person. Let's say that's true. What should my next step be?"

"Kid, I wish I knew," said Guy, taking on a fatherly tone. "I'm hardly an expert on training superheroes or even being a Green Lantern, and you should know that. From what I'm hearing, I'd say what you want is to become a superhero yourself, and the advice I gave you before still stands."

"What do you mean?" asked Martin, sifting through his short term memory. "Are you saying that I should take things slow?"

"Exactly," said Guy, smiling for the first time since this conversation began. "You've got to learn to walk before you can run. Being a superhero isn't just about fighting supervillains. It's about helping people. There's a difference, and way too many people don't pick up on it. Believe it or not, I made that mistake when I was starting out."

That brought an amused smile to Martin's lips as well. Guy was still somewhat notorious for his escapades during the twencen, and what he'd just said was something of an understatement, and they both knew it.

"So how do you suggest I go about doing that?" asked Martin.

"Just start slow," said Guy, clasping Martin's wrist in warrior fashion. "If you want to learn to be a superhero, then practice by being a hero first," he continued, putting his psychology training to what he hoped was good use. Considering the inordinate number of beings with superhuman powers or legacies that were coming to him for advice, he was starting to wonder whether he shouldn't set up an office with a psychiatric couch and start counseling them professionally. Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. "Does that help?"

"Actually, it does," said Martin, returning the power of Guy's grip. Raising his pint, he tapped it against Guy's before draining it completely in a single draught, and Guy did the same. "Actually, it does."

**NorAm: New Coast City [February 4, 2113]**

The New Coast City Fire Station was as hectic as always. Crime wasn't exactly on the rise, but the Justice League still kept the local firemen busy on a daily basis, not to mention the local police. In an age when weapons fired lasers instead of bullets, there were too many fires that needed to be put out.

"Damn it!" yelled Chief Ramirez as the automated switchboard lit up to indicate that yet another fire had been started in the Chinatown district. "Alright, I want Unit 24 out of this place in five seconds! Move!"

Considered little more than a cleanup crew for other, more important public service departments by the majority of the populace, few were drawn to the profession. Needless to say, the high mortality rate didn't help matters, and most fire departments were ridiculously understaffed.

Still, the profession did have its benefits. In addition to the usual benefits, all firemen were provided with housing and substantial pay. Also, the fire department's computer was interconnected with those of the Justice League, the police department, the hospitals, and all of the most prominent news bands. Naturally, this last benefit wasn't of much concern to most firemen, but it was more than enough to draw the attention of the New Coast City department's newest recruit.

"Madre de Dios! Who the hell are you and what do you want?" asked Chief Ramirez, somewhat surprised. Preoccupied with monitoring activity on his holographic map of the city, Chief Ramirez hadn't even noticed that someone had walked into his office. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to intrude. My name is Martin Ulster, and I'm interested in joining the New Coast City Fire Department..."

- _End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #5_ -


	6. Fireside Chat

_THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.  
_

**GREEN LANTERN:DCF #6**

_"Fireside Chat"_

Written by David Lee  
Edited by Alex Cook

**NorAm: New Coast City, Central Fire Station**

"So you're here for a tour of New Coast City Central, are you? Well, I'm not surprised. If you're gonna have a look at how a Fire Station works, then you might as well take a look at the best, and believe you me, New Coast Central is the best you'll ever find. Why? Because this place is full of heroes in the best sense of the word. Don't believe me? Well, that's your prerogative, but maybe I'll have you convinced once the tour is finished."

He points his thumb over his shoulder at the Central Fire Station and motions for you to follow.

"First off, let's have a look at the building itself. Hardly the equal of a Justice League HQ, right? Even so, this compound has a barracks and a rooftop full of high-tech vehicles, but it's more like a college campus than a military facility. The public library doesn't store as many volumes as this place, and this particular facility boasts more big brains than the local Justice League."

Your guide taps his finger against the side of his skull, and you can't help wondering whether a hollow sound isn't being produced thereby.

"How can this be? Well, the fact of the matter is that not every brainy guy out there falls in love with tech. Some prefer the arts and others prefer the humanities. Don't let the school system fool you, non-technical majors are still alive and well as courses of study, even if they don't pay much. And the good ones whose relatives aren't corporate or government bigwigs usually end up here."

He makes a sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate New Coast Central, and some of you raise some eyebrows to express your disbelief.

"Still don't believe me? Well then, let me introduce you to my squad. You won't find a better team of firefighters in all of NorAm so don't let anybody tell you any different. Take Jackson here. You wouldn't know it by looking at him, but he's one of the best pilots around. He was taught by his daddy, but he never went NAF so he doesn't have a commercial license. That's how he ended up here."

Having lead you to the roof, he indicates a man with a goatee wearing a black turtleneck and dark sunglasses who looks like the last guy you'd want piloting your commercial transport. A half-empty cup of coffee in his hand, and an ashtray full to brimming with cigarettes at his side, Jackson turns a bleary eye towards you. He's sitting in a folding chair with an antique book in his hands. Apparently, firefighting does pay very well.

"Fighting fires ain't no big thing," says Jackson, having made note of the fact that he now has an audience. "Ain't that much difference between blowing out a match and putting out a burning building. Fire doesn't destroy, man destroys! And we are all the destroyer, each and every one of us! We set fires to the garbage of our lives, in the vain hope of not being cast away ourselves. The heat warms us. The smoke blinds us. And the tears wash the flames away. Burn baby! Burn!"

Jackson's words horrify you, but the other firemen just start snapping their fingers by way of applause. It seems strangely appropriate.

"Not only is Jackson our best pilot, he's also our resident poet. Every squad has at least one, and ours is a bit crazier than the rest. Still, they say all the best pilots are crazy so remember the name. Kerouac Jackson might well become famous one of these days."

He leads you away from Jackson's maniacal grin back to the turbo lift, taking you down one floor to the hangar, where the fire engines are parked. Instead of hover-converted trucks, you see vehicles that look more like flying submarines than anything else. Each one seems to have the image of a beautiful woman in a swimsuit, striking a cheesecake pose, painted onto its side.

"Say hello to the Anne-Marie Godwin, people! This is a state-of-the-art firefighting machine, complete with sonic disruptors designed to extinguish heat sources and a payload of ten tons of compressed, deoxidizing foam. Heat-shielded and equipped with military-grade force fields, we've got four of these birds ready to go at a moment's notice at all times."

The canary yellow paint job detracts from the impressiveness of the vehicles, but you still can't help admiring them. While you're examining one of them, its side hatch opens to reveal another fireman, this one holding a holocam. Annoyingly, the holocam seems to be trained on you.

"Don't mind him, that's just Hartley, our resident filmmaker. He used to be an actor way back when, and he was moderately successful. Still, he really wanted to direct so he put all of his own money into his directorial debut. It bombed, and he ended up here."

He stands there, apparently attempting to focus on you and your companions before triggering the device that will record his dictation.

"Here approach an uncertain group of wayward primates," says Hartley, speaking into a small mouthpiece connected to his holocam. "Strangers in a strange land, they look all about them with terror in their eyes. Surrounded by their supposed protectors, wondering whether or not they should feel safe..."

Nervously, you look first at Smith and then at each other. Was this man truly responsible, at least in part, for their safety and well-being?

"I wouldn't worry too much about the narration. Hartley said pretty much the same thing back when he was filming love stories, and now, he's on this documentary kick. UN policy requires that a holo recording be made of every fire we fight so that pretty much works out well for us."

Strangely enough, this makes sense to you. No doubt, requiring this rowdy group of adventurers to record their exploits was a sound fiscal policy. Continuing on your tour, you're taken down one more floor to yet another hangar. Lined up and down it are suits of mechanized armor, designed for firefighting and painted a familiar, canary yellow pattern.

"Well folks, here we have the F-2000 battle suit. It's your basic Tempest Industries design, but it's been heavily retro-fitted for firefighting instead of combat. It has all the systems available on our fire engines, plus force fields that can be projected around rescue victims and tractor beams to help move and support fallen debris."

The armor does, indeed, look impressive, and it makes you feel just that much safer. If, heaven forbid, you ever were caught in a fire, perhaps this armor would be successful in rescuing you despite the firemen within them.

"If you look closely at this particular unit, you'll see that its current resident is our prettiest fireman. Say hello to Christine Carpenter, people."

At that moment, the chest cavity of the battle suit opens up, and a woman with long, red hair climbs out. Saying nothing, she ignores you completely and goes on about her business, apparently running the suit through some kind of maintenance check.

"Not only is Chris our prettiest fireman, she also happens to be our best mecha pilot and the only woman in the squad. Of course, we have strict regulations against inter-squad relationships, but she's drawn the attention of most of the squad. I've caught our newest recruit staring at her more than once."

Looking at her, you can't help wondering how it was that an attractive, intelligent girl like her ended up in a place like this, working with men like these. Was she, perhaps, fleeing a bad marriage? Or had she been sentenced to duty here as part of some criminal penance? You will probably never know.

"Every now and then, you run into a fireman who doesn't want to talk about his past, or her past as the case may be. As long as she does her job, it's considered impolite to pry so we'll leave Chris be. She's the best mecha pilot we've ever had, and we'd hate to lose her by being rude."

That said, your guide takes you down to the next floor. The turbo lift doors open to reveal a room whose walls are lined with both holovids and antiquated LCD displays. A single man sits at the center of this web of datastream activity.

"Here we have our communications center, which is actually the hub of all activity at any fire station. The displays you see are connected to every other public institution in all of New Coast City, not to mention a few private institutions as well. This includes the hospitals, schools, churches, police stations, the Justice League HQ, and the museums, plus a few others I can't remember at the moment."

Looking at the various displays, you can see that some of them aren't monitoring official business, data-streaming entertainment and infotainment channels instead. Some are surprisingly outdated.

"The man you see before you is one Juan Ramirez, our so-called communications expert. Personally, I think he spends more time watching twencen vids than doing actual work. He's notorious for his love of bad puns, and he drives the rest of us crazy. He also has a doctorate in twencen media, specializing in science fiction and fantasy genres if you can believe it."

One one of the displays, a movie about a Scottish highland swordsman who wields a Japanese katana appears. Seeing this, Juan's features light up excitedly. He jumps to a standing position and pulls a sword from behind one of the holomonitors, striking a pose.

"I am Juan Ramirez of the Clan Ramirez. Now is the time of the gathering, and the quickening can only be mine! Because in the end, there can be only Juan!"

You wonder what he's talking about when it dawns upon you that he's probably making one of these bad puns that he's supposedly notorious for.

"Yeah, I know, you don't get the reference, luckily for you. Believe me though, if you did, then you'd be cringing. Last time, that one left the Chief's right eye twitching for days. We'd get rid of him, but he's damned good at his job. He also happens to be the Chief's son."

Juan looks as if he's about to say something else, perhaps even open up with another pun, when your guide quickly exits the room. All of you follow his lead and make your way out as well. Navigating narrow corridors, you finally arrive at a large room filled with athletic equipment, obviously the gym or fitness center for this facility. Sitting at a desk is a very large, Native American man with his arms folded across his chest. He stands to his full height as you enter, easily surpassing six and a half feet.

"Let me introduce you to Cameron Redfoot, our athletic director. Some of you may recognize him as the former center lineman for the Kingston Bombers. A knee injury forced him into early retirement, and rather than disappear from the face of the planet or start doing sportscasts, he decided to join our little family instead. He's meaner than an NAF drill sergeant and twice as big..."

Grunting his irritation, Redfoot just stares at everyone coldly before going about his business. Seeing a stray three-hundred-pound barbell, he lifts it up with one hand and carries it back to the rack. Once that's done, he stares at you again, and you find yourselves nervously trying to avoid his gaze.

"... but he's also a very busy man so we should let him get back to whatever he was doing as quickly as possible."

Your guide coughs into his fist and quickly makes his way past the high-tech exercise equipment to another turbo lift on the other side of the building. Apparently, there's one at each corner of the building. Going down two more floors, you arrive at what appears to be a recreational facility. Sitting next to a jukebox replica is a rail-thin young black man who's playing blues riffs on a guitar. The floor includes several pool tables, a wet bar, a few dart boards, and other entertainment paraphernalia.

"Here, we have the rec room. At any given hour of the day, you're likely to find Chicago Skinnie here, wailing away on that guitar of his. We call him Chicago because that's where he's from, but his last name is actually Skinnie. It's not just a nickname based on his build. Anyway, all the good fire stations have a blues player in residence, and New Coast Central's got one of the best."

Skinnie says not a word. Instead, he immediately going into an old, Muddy Waters tune. Most of you don't recognize it, but the tune moves you as little else has.

"New Coast Central is actually in the process of forming a band. Jackson plays a mean harmonica, and Chris sings like an angel. Just check out the station's website for our performance schedule."

Lost in the music, you make a mental note to do just that. It should be well worth attending. Stepping back into the turbo lift, you're led down to the basement level, bypassing the rest of the residential areas. Apparently, they're not a part of the standard tour.

"Moving right along, we find ourselves in the maintenance bay. Here, you'll find our newest recruit, Martin Ulster, working tirelessly almost night and day. Even though he doesn't have any degrees, you'd think he lived an entire lifetime as an engineer, what with the way he works with these machines."

This Martin Ulster looks familiar to you. Perhaps you've seen him in one of those calendars that the fire stations produce to help raise money for charity? Perhaps his face has appeared on a poster you've seen somewhere? As soon as the notion comes to you, it slips out of your mind. It's surely nothing more than a silly notion, a mere flight of fancy.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the New Coast Central Fire Station," says Martin, wiping his greasy hands on his coveralls. "I apologize for the state of disarray, but please rest assured that your safety is in good hands."

His polite discourse is a most refreshing change of pace, and you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, Martin is still green. That's why his manners are still so good, especially for a self-educated wrench monkey, but there's no need to worry. The rest of us will wear away that polish soon enough."

Unfortunately, it seems more than likely that this terrible fate does in fact await this earnest young man.

"Now, don't look so glum. We wouldn't let anything bad happen to Martin. He's our lucky charm. Ever since he joined up, we haven't had a single fatality, and we mean to keep things that way. Anyway, he's got to get back to work, and we've got just one more stop left to make on this tour."

Martin smiles and waves as you're led away. You're led up one floor and taken back to the entrance of the fire station. To the side of the entrance is an office marked 'Fire Chief.'

"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Chief Saul Ramirez of the New Coast Central Fire Station. The Big Kahuna. The Big Cheese. Our fearless leader."

Your guide has a goofy grin on his face, but Chief Ramirez seems to be anything but amused. Taking a brief respite from the daily red tape that he has to deal with, he takes the time to address you.

"Ignore the Deputy Chief, folks. He's just mad because I made him take you on this door. Normally, tour guide duties would have fallen to Ulster, our newest recruit, but I'm punishing my second-in-command for being too much of a hot dog out in the field. I don't care how good any of my people are, none of them takes any unnecessary risks without my say so, and that goes double for you, Hal Kalmaku. Do I make myself clear?"

Deputy Chief Kalmaku, your erstwhile tour guide just raises a hand and makes an 'OK' gesture.

"Clear as invisible glass, boss. Won't happen again."

Taking him at his word, Chief Ramirez just nods his head before focusing his attention back on his paperwork.

"Good. Now, get these tourists out of my office."

Still smiling, Kalmaku just turns around and gestures toward the main entrance, indicating that it's time to leave.

"Well, you heard the Chief. Get out. And don't forget, the lives we save one day could be yours. Have a nice day."

- _End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #6_ -


	7. Fireflies in the Spring

_THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.  
_

**GREEN LANTERN:DCF #7**

_"Fireflies in the Spring"_

Written by David Lee  
Edited by Jason Tippitt

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown**

The corporate high-rises in Downtown New Coast City were rocked by the force of multiple explosions as blaster fire resounded in the streets and in the skies. Pedestrians ran, screaming with fear, as they attempted to dodge the millions of dollars' worth of steel and concrete falling from on high. A battle was being waged between Patriot and Justice League forces, and as usual, it was the normal citizens of the city who were suffering for it.

"HELLO. THIS IS LANI LING, REPORTING FOR KNCC NEWS, LIVE FROM THE SCENE AS THE JUSTICE LEAGUE STRUGGLES IN COMBAT AGAINST A TERRORIST FACTION OF PATRIOT FREEDOM FIGHTERS CALLING THEMSELVES THE 'FIREFLY FORCE.' DETERMINED TO DESTROY NEW COAST CITY UNLESS THE JUSTICE LEAGUE ACCEDES TO AS-YET UNKNOWN DEMANDS."

High above, the Patriot leader confirmed the reporter's announcement as energy blasts ricocheted futilely off the defensive screens generated by his powered armor. An unusual design, it sported external circuitry and wiring that gave it an insectoid appearance and oddly bullet-shaped helmets. Apparently, the suits relied entirely upon the force fields they generated for defense, force fields that were all too effective.

"Our demands are simple! You will hand over control of this city or be destroyed!" exclaimed Richard Garfield, the leader of the so-called 'Firefly Force,' who was calling himself 'Firefly One.' Supposedly a direct descendant of the original Firefly, a minor adversary of the Dark Knight back in the TwenCen, Richard had apparently decided to try and restore honor to his family name through terrorist action. "Better to die than to live under the heel of Justice!" he finished, one fist upraised to accentuate his point. All around him, Fireflies two through fifty sounded off with a resounding chorus that echoed throughout the city in agreement.

"Down with Justice!"

And on the streets below, Lani Ling could only smack herself on the forehead in response. Luckily, she was off-camera, but she knew that. She was far too professional to make such an amateurish mistake. "Damn it, you'd think they'd stop spouting the same old rhetoric every once in a while," she said, somewhat disgusted. "If they just changed their demands as often as they changed their costumes and leaders, I'd have at least a shot at a Pulitzer."

"Sorry, babe," said the robotic holocam, continually readjusting its focus as it panned from battle scene to battle scene. No living cameraman was willing to risk life and limb on Lani's quest for another Pulitzer any longer, and the station had been forced to provide her with an artificial one. "But them's the breaks."

"Don't call me babe!" Lani yelled, mildly irritated. She had no idea who at the station was responsible for programming her automated holocam with an outdated, chauvinist personality, but one day, she would find out. And then, that person would pay. "When I want answers from you, I'll let you know."

"Anything you say, babe."

"Aaargh!" grumbled Lani, searching the scene for a likely interview candidate. Several blocks away, she saw two Leaguers in quiet conversation, one of whom she recognized as Bryan Starr, otherwise known as Particle Man, the commander of the local Justice League forces, or so she thought. Activating the boom mike on her remote listening device, she attempted to eavesdrop on their conversation, despite the intervening distance.

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown [JL Mobile HQ]**

"Bloody hell, how'd you let things get this far out of control?" asked Frost, taking a drag on his cigarette and blowing smoke in Bryan's face. None too pleased, Particle Man wanted nothing more than to bombard himself across Frost's pathetic, British little face, but he restrained himself. Unfortunately for him, Frost was a superior officer, sent by Justice himself to check up on his unit, and, apparently, to put them through hell. But more than a dozen JL troopers had already fallen to the advanced weapons of these Firefly soldiers, incinerated instantly, and Particle Man really didn't need any of Frost's snide comments.

"Look, it's not my job to ferret out Patriot's plans," said Bryan, gritting his teeth. "I'm a Peace Officer. It's my job to protect the people of this city, not spy on them. And as a matter of fact, gathering covert intelligence on them is your job, if what I've heard about you is true."

"Is that a fact?" asked Frost, mildly impressed by the display of backbone. But not much. "Well, you should have asked right off then, eh, mate?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" exclaimed Bryan, exasperated beyond belief. "Do you mean to say that you've got intel on these Firefly freaks that you've been holding back? Grife!"

"I was sent here to evaluate you New Coast City types, not lead you by the nose," retorted Frost, looking smug and leaning out with his chin, practically daring Particle Man to hit him. For his part, Bryan was sorely tempted, but Mulligan beat him to the punch, sending Frost sprawling to the ground.

"Ask and ye shall receive, you thieving English bastard!" yelled Mulligan, his face red with rage. Standard operating procedure dictated that the troopers assigned to the Justice League go in first whenever some new enemy presented itself because they were both more expendable and more easily replaced. But Kieran O'Kennedy just couldn't accept standing on the sidelines while people he played poker with and went drinking with were being decimated all around him for no good reason. "Who do you think you are, coming down here like the Lord of the Manor, putting people's lives at risk with these games of yours! Well, we don't need your intel, and we don't need you!"

"Mulligan, stand down!" ordered Particle Man, barely suppressing a smile. "Like it or not, these Fireflies just might be able to make good on their threats, and we need to know as much about them as possible."

Propped up on his elbows and spitting blood, Frost just smiled. "Well, Kieran O'Kennedy, as I live and breathe!" he exclaimed, raising a hand for the young, Irish Leaguer to help him up. Grudgingly, Mulligan complied, not smiling at all. "It's been a long time since you were the schoolboy, and I was the schoolmaster."

"Not long enough, you conceited old sod," said Mulligan, turning away as quickly as he could. "So what brings the Vicar all the way to New Coast City? And why'd you have to bring damnation and hellfire with you?"

"Well, it's nice to know I've been missed," said Frost, shaking his head negatively in an exaggerated fashion. "I'd love to reminisce about old times, but I believe your commander has finally decided to start asking the right questions, more or less. What you're up against is a terrorist faction of the Patriot cells operating in this area."

To Kieran's eyes, Frost was visibly falling back into the role of schoolmaster for the purpose of disseminating his intel and seemingly taking great pleasure in it. He was a bit less long-winded than he remembered, but he was otherwise still the harsh schoolmaster with the riding crop who had once overseen his early education.

"Last year, all of the Patriot cells in this area were united under the leadership of that so-called 'Green Lantern' that you defeated," began Frost, actually giving Particle Man and Mulligan an approving nod. "And without strong leadership, the chain of command here broke down almost immediately. All of the various factions started bickering, the subsequent in-fighting allowed the NAF and the League to thwart their plans at every turn, and fairly easily at that."

"Thwart?" whispered Mulligan, wondering whether Frost had actually said that. His reward was a quick elbow in the ribs from Particle Man to knock it off. Indeed, his school days were suddenly coming back to him very clearly.

"In fact, we've been picking them off one by one, and we believe that this is nothing more than a last-ditch effort to rally the remaining cells," said Frost, ignoring the brief interruption. "The Firefly gimmick is a lame but seemingly effective attempt to replace that Green Lantern guy as a Patriot symbol, an attempt by one Richard Garfield to solidify the remaining Patriot cells under his own leadership. They don't want the bloody city. They just want a military victory against the League. They're just saying that so you'll be the ones what shoot first."

"So what you're saying here," began Particle Man, rubbing his chin in what he hoped was a heroic pose, "is that if we defeat these guys here, we stand a good chance of wiping Patriot out in New Coast City..."

"...And that if we fail," finished Mulligan, spitting into the ground, "we'll have a whole new crop of power-armored pub-bombing types to reckon with. And all we can do is wait for them to start blowing things up and killing people. Bloody marvelous."

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown**

Several blocks away, Lani Ling was practically jumping up and down for joy, the word 'Pulitzer' dancing through her head.

"WITH THE CITY POISED ON THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, THE FUTURE OF PATRIOT HANGS IN THE BALANCE. WILL THE JUSTICE LEAGUE GIVE IN TO THIS FINAL ACT OF DESPERATION ON THE PART OF PATRIOT? OR WILL THEY SUCCEED IN THWARTING THIS TERRORIST ACTION? STAY TUNED. THIS IS LANI LING REPORTING FOR KNCC NEWS."

Brushing her hair away from her eyes, Lani broke into a huge smile now that she was off-camera, and her countenance no longer had to reflect the seriousness of the situation. "Well, how was that?"

"Thwarting?" queried the robotic holocam, giving her the mechanical equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

"It seemed appropriate."

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown [Aboard the Anne-Marie Godwin]**

"...Lani Ling, reporting for KNCC News."

The news report on the holomonitor did little to improve the mood on board the Anne-Marie Godwin as it raced to the scene. This was going to be a bad one. Things were going to get real ugly real fast, and they all knew it. They could feel it in their bones.

High above the city streets, the fire-fighting hover weaved between skyscrapers, just barely avoiding collisions with civilian hovers fleeing the battle scene. The procedure was not unlike trying to race a semi-truck against stock cars at the Daytona 500 and somehow being able to win. The opinion of onlookers below was that the pilot was either phenomenally good or just plain crazy. Both opinions were valid.

"Eyes wide, hep cats. We're moving in," said Jackson, doing his best not to spill his coffee while at the helm. "Get ready to groove."

But that was easier said than done. Statistically speaking, they were long overdue for a fatality, and this seemed like a likely situation for that to happen. The tension was so thick that you could cut it with a knife, but luckily, the Deputy Chief knew exactly how to hack through it completely.

"You know, after this one, I think I'm going to need a drink. Maybe we should all head for Schuyler's. It is flaming night," Hal said, chuckling, his words almost instantly lifting their spirits. Laughter soon erupted from all the other firemen as well, except for Juan and Martin, the latter turning to Juan for clarification, a look of confusion on his face. Disgustedly, Juan just shook his head.

"You accidentally take a bunch of firemen to a gay bar just once, and they never let you live it down." And that was all it took for Martin to join in, his own laughter mixing in with the rest of the chorus. "Et tu, Martin?"

"Tell you what," offered Hal as he did one final systems check on his F-2000 battle suit. "If you'll hold back on the puns, then we'll forget all about that incident. Deal?"

A hush settled over them all. Would Juan accept? Would he finally put an end to their torment?

"Nah, no thanks," said Juan, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. "It just wouldn't be worth it."

Some sighed. Others winced. While still others held their stomachs. Still, they'd all known it was too much to hope for, and they knew that they would soon have more important things to worry about. It was time to save some lives.

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown [Firefly Command Post]**

"...Lani Ling, reporting for KNCC News."

The news report went over even worse with the Firefly Force. Naturally, they were monitoring all local stations, and it was doing more than just making their leader angry. It was making the troops nervous, and that was something that he couldn't allow.

"Damn it, they know!" exclaimed Garfield, making a fist. Naturally, he'd known from the start that the Justice League would never give up the city. That demand had been nothing more than a ploy, something he'd said to force the Justice League into initiating hostilities with his Fireflies, but apparently, they weren't going to give him what he wanted. What? Did they think he wasn't willing to make sacrifices? That he wasn't a strong enough leader to sacrifice the few for the sake of the many? Well, he'd show them. He would make them pay. In the name of the Garfield family, he would make them all pay.

"They won't concede! They'll fight us to their last breath, leaving us with no choice but to strike the first blow!" exclaimed Garfield, making a sweeping gesture at the city. All around him, the Firefly Force started spreading out in a rotating, diamond formation. Their powered armor humming with gathered energies, they started picking out targets amongst the passersby and newly abandoned buildings, awaiting only Firefly One's command.

"Initiate phase two!"

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown [JL Mobile HQ]**

Beckett Baker was by and large considered the scientific genius of New Coast City's chapter of the Justice League. Whenever the team was faced with some new technology that they didn't understand, it fell to him to figure out what it was. Unfortunately, Beckett was a pacifist at heart, and he had difficulties comprehending the purpose behind anything designed solely for the purpose of destruction.

"Listen guys, I don't know how this armor works exactly, but it looks like it's modeled after that Green Lantern armor we went up against a while back," said Beckett, doing scan after scan, analysis after analysis, trying to home in on some structural weak points or design flaws. Anything would help. "It's not nearly as powerful, but effective nonetheless."

"That much we know, Brainiac," said Particle Man over the com, watching as one of his JL troopers just barely evaded one of the energy blasts that was quickly decimating their numbers. "What we need to know is what they're shooting us with and why our armor is ineffective against it."

"Well, that much I can tell you," said Beckett, mentally reviewing certain thermodynamic theories and their applications with the aid of his photographic memory. "Their blasts leave behind a mild radiation signature that's indicative of microwave heat. Justice League body armor is designed to defend against physical blows and hard energy weapons, but not extreme temperature variations. Not this extreme, at any rate."

"Terrific, a spontaneous combustion weapon," said Particle Man, gritting his teeth. "So they can incinerate our troops with impunity, and our weapons can't even dent their shields. Any suggestions?"

"Wait for the bloody cavalry?" suggested Mulligan, seeing the situation as hopeless.

"Cavalry? What cavalry?"

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown**

Sarah Conklin was thirty-four years old. She was born on November 10th in the year 2078, and she had one surviving parent, her father. She'd graduated from Gotham University with a degree in sociology, and she'd been employed as a social worker for more than ten years, relocating to New Coast City from Gotham only when the darkness had become too much for her.

Sarah had been married for less than seven years to a career high-school teacher, a loving marriage that had produced one child, her five-year-old daughter, Charlotte. And as she held Charlotte close, she could see all the events of her life passing before her eyes. Blaster fire was erupting all around them, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before she and her daughter were caught in the crossfire.

Caught completely off-guard, the Justice League was barely able to avoid the searing beams of microwave heat projected by the powered armor of the Firefly Force as they spread out past the troopers and started targeting the Leaguers themselves. But evade it they did, causing the beams to melt the buildings to slag instead of them. Huge chunks of superheated concrete and steel began falling to the streets below, one such mass hurtling directly towards Sarah Conklin and her daughter.

"Please... no..." mumbled Sarah, shielding her own eyes and covering her daughter's with her hand. Hours seemed to pass by as she waited for the deathblow to come, but it never did. And when she finally did open her eyes, she saw a robotic angel in black and canary yellow armor standing over them protectively, a super-cooled hunk of formerly molten debris held in its hands.

The cavalry had arrived.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" asked Christine, effortlessly tossing the debris aside. The medical scanners in her F-2000 battle suit quickly informed her that both mother and child were fine, at least for the moment, even though they were both too stunned to respond. "Don't worry; you're going to be alright."

High above, Siren and Rainbow returned fire, the former detonating a photonic blast that would at least temporarily blind the optics of the Patriot terrorists while the latter generated a shield of harmonics that would protect the pair against subsequent attacks. Both of them witnessed the firefighter's daring rescue of the two civilians, and they simultaneously breathed sighs of relief.

"You know, like, I really wish it could be us down there, saving lives instead of fighting all the time," said Siren, setting up a resonance in one Firefly's armor. It took a few moments for her to match the resonance to the frequency of his force field, but soon enough, his electronics were short-circuiting. A moment later, he was plummeting earthward.

"For sure," agreed Rainbow, who turned her gaze away just before that Firefly went 'splat' on the pavement. Despite her training, she still hadn't become desensitized to the violence. "Protocol's a real drag, but that's our deal. We fight the bad guys, and the firefighters, paramedics, and policemen save the days."

"But that, like, totally sucks!" said Siren, alternating the harmonics of her shield to allow one of Rainbow's solid-light photon blasts through. It couldn't get through the Firefly's force field, but it still packed enough of a punch to send him crashing through the window of a nearby building. "Grife! When I signed up for this gig, they told me I was, like, going to be a hero, not a soldier...!"

"...Not a killer," finished Rainbow, who knew her teammate and friend all too well. She watched as Siren made that face she made whenever she was so upset that she wanted to cry but refused to let any tears flow. "As if. But don't think like that. Those fashion victims in the purple robot suits are the killers, not us. It's them or us. It's self-defense. And we've totally got no choice but to keep them from ever killing again."

"Thanks," said Siren, watching as the firefighter picked up the mother and daughter and whisked them away to safety, far from the line of fire. Then she watched as the Patriot terrorist just struck by Rainbow rallied and rushed back into the fray, yelling some battle cry that she couldn't make out over the hum of her active powers. "That, like, really helps. But I can't help wondering if the baddies aren't saying the exact same things about having to kill us."

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown [Aboard the Anne-Marie Godwin]**

Several blocks away, a full squadron of the Firefly Force broke through the Justice League perimeter. The center of town having been cordoned off and mostly evacuated, hostages and victims were scarce. So they raced towards the Southwest quadrant of the city with several Justice Leaguers hot on their heels. They were headed directly for New Coast Elementary.

"That's it. I give up," said Juan, taking one look at the bullet-shaped helmets on the Firefly armor and placing both of his hands behind his head. "When the villains start showing up in suppository form, it's time to quit."

Juan didn't even need to look to know that Martin and Kerouac were wincing. After all, he could hear the groans. Still, this was no laughing matter. Far below, two figures could be seen chasing after the errant terrorists, desperate to stop them before any children got hurt. The only problem was that neither Saracen nor Mulligan had powers that included flight, and they weren't going to make it in time, not without help. Luckily, help was close at hand - directly above them, in fact.

"Need a lift, Justice League type hep cats?" asked Jackson over the external speaker, slowing down just long enough for the two Justice Leaguers to grab a handrail and climb up on the Anne-Marie Godwin's sides. A moment later, they were barreling after the terrorists, rolling and diving to avoid beams of microwave heat.

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Mulligan, pinning himself as close to the side of the vehicle as possible. And that was the only thing that kept him from colliding with one of the Fireflies as they forced their way through their ranks, taking up position between the terrorists and the school. "Hey, you in there! Where'd you learn to fly?"

"Who says I ever did?" answered Jackson, wincing as one of the terrorist's blasts managed to connect with the Anne-Marie. Fortunately, the dense metal of his vessel had been engineered to withstand even more extreme levels of heat. "But don't get crazy, man. We've got other worries here. Dig?"

"Would they really be so ungentlemanly as to harm innocent children?" asked Saracen, brandishing his scimitar as he pulled himself up on top of the fire engine, somersaulting to avoid the blasts directed at him. Unfortunately, the blasts that missed him seared into the walls of the school instead. "Asked and answered," he continued, gritting his teeth.

Vaulting some twenty feet into the air, Saracen swung his sword at a Firefly trying to make his way past him to the school, his mystic blade easily bypassing the powered armor's technological defenses. The Firefly crashed to the ground, and Saracen would have followed suit had not one of New Coast City's finest firemen come to his rescue.

"Don't worry, I've got you!" exclaimed Martin, grabbing Saracen's outstretched hand and swinging him back onto the roof of the Anne-Marie Godwin, a maneuver that seemed strangely familiar to New Coast City's largest Justice Leaguer. "Try to keep them busy while we get the kids to safety... sir!" Martin added a little belatedly. Having been a Justice Leaguer himself for so long, the subtleties of station and rank often eluded him, especially when dealing with one of his former classmates.

"Jolly good!" exclaimed Saracen, brandishing his blade once again. Holding it before him in a meditative stance, he channeled his mystic energies through it before hurling it with all of his prodigious strength at the rapidly advancing Fireflies. It struck the lead Firefly with enough precision to ricochet off him into two other Fireflies, disabling all of their flight capabilities before returning to his grasp. "Off with you, then. You've lives to save."

Smiling, Martin activated the boosters in his battle suit's thrusters and rocketed off towards the school. As the greenest recruit, it had been decided that he should be the one to go on ahead and organize the evacuation of the school while Juan and Kerouac did what they could to help slow down the advance of the terrorists. Little did they know just how green he was...

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown [JL Mobile HQ]**

Particle Man watched as Saracen and Mulligan rushed off to engage the Firefly attack force headed for the elementary school, his fists clenched with impotent rage. Of all the Leaguers in New Coast City, he was by far the fastest flyer. It was only logical that he should be the one to intercept them, but as the Justice League commander, protocol demanded that he personally engage the Patriot leader.

Not that he didn't want to fight Garfield. The man had just put the lives of innocent children at stake, but wasn't he just as guilty of that by not doing everything he could to save them? And what about Frost? There he was, standing idly by, possibly even taking notes while the battle raged all around him. How could he justify his inaction? Shaking his head to clear it of these disturbing thoughts, Particle Man prepared himself for the battle ahead. There would be time for ethical debate later, or at least he hoped there would be.

Triggering his powers, Particle Man's body began to hum as it took on the properties of a wave, becoming partially insubstantial as the air around him became electrically charged, hardening to a nearly indestructible state. And he was just about to launch himself at Garfield at near-relativistic speeds when Beckett interrupted him on the com.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Beckett, his voice frantic and anxious. "I've scanned Garfield's armor, and it's different from all the others. It's not just bigger; it's projecting some kind of energy wave out to all the other armors. I think it's supplying power to them."

"So if I take the head Firefly, then I take out all the other Fireflies as well?" Particle Man asked, somewhat incredulous. "Why didn't you tell me that before? And if that's the case, then why shouldn't I take him out?"

"Because if that's the case, then Garfield's armor will explode if it takes too much damage," answered Beckett, typing away furiously at the keys on his data pad. "By my calculations, based on what I've seen of the armor's capabilities and the numbers we've seen here, it could explode with a force of over 500 megatons, enough to destroy all of New Coast City. And that's the good news."

"Good news?" queried Particle Man, who had no idea how to handle an opponent he couldn't shoot at or hit. "If that's the good news, the what's the bad news?"

"The bad news is that Garfield's own armor will become more powerful with each external Firefly we take out, since he'll be able to use more of the power he's generating for himself," said Beckett, hurling his data pad away with disgust. "I've monitored a spike in Firefly One's power level with each other Firefly we've taken out. That means that if we take out too many of them, his armor could overload and blow up anyway, even if we don't blow him out of the sky."

* * *

"AND THERE YOU HAVE IT FOLKS. WITH THE CITY POISED ON THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, THE JUSTICE LEAGUE FACES AN ENEMY THAT CANNOT BE DEFEATED BY BRUTE FORCE ALONE OR AT ALL. WILL THE CITY BE DESTROYED AT THE HANDS OF THE FIREFLY FORCE? OR WILL IT BE DESTROYED AT THE HANDS OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE AS A RESULT OF THEIR MISGUIDED ATTEMPTS TO DEFEND IT? AGAIN, AND PERHAPS FOR THE LAST TIME, THIS IS LANI LING, REPORTING FOR KNCC NEWS."

- _End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #7_ -


	8. Fires of Hope

_THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.  
_

**GREEN LANTERN:DCF #8**

_"Fires of Hope"_

Written by David Lee  
Edited by Jason Tippitt

**NorAm: New Coast City, School District**

Mrs. Gertrude Malcolmsen couldn't possibly conceive of any profession more boring and less rewarding than teaching. For nearly twenty years, she'd been teaching third grade at New Coast Elementary, slaving away from day to day so that other people's children could grow up to be something less than completely ignorant. Which is to say, only dull and mostly ignorant like their parents. Sighing despondently at her own fate, she nonetheless made an effort to sound animated as she made an announcement to the class.

"Today, we have a special assignment from the mayor herself!" exclaimed Mrs. Malcolmsen, smiling and clapping her hands. The smile was obviously forced, the clapping was a bit too vigorous, and the children reacted with moans of disapproval. They had no idea what this special assignment was all about, but they already had more than sufficient reason to believe that they wouldn't like it. Ignoring their reaction, their teacher prattled on.

"Her honor, the mayor, would like your help trying to choose a phrase by which New Coast City will be called," said Mrs. Malcolmsen, hoping that her false giddiness would rub off onto the class. It didn't, but as usual, this caused her little dismay. "For example, Paris is known as the City of Lights, and Metropolis is referred to as the City of Tomorrow. Every student in school has been asked to help think of something similar for New Coast City, a phrase that describes how you see this city and how you feel about living here. I'm sure you'll all come up with some truly wonderful ideas."

Sullenly, some of the children turned their gazes to the clock on the wall and saw that it was just past two in the afternoon. In less than an hour, they'd be free to return home, meaning that this was most likely the last assignment of the day. And that, at least, brought some cheer to their otherwise unhappy faces.

Equally eager to be done with the work day and return home, Mrs. Malcolmsen turned to the window, signaling for the classroom computer to transmute it from opaque to clear. She did this often to temporarily escape the drudgery of teaching, even if only for a moment. Indeed, there were some days that she actually wished that terrorists or super villains would return to destroy New Coast City, or at least the school, just to put an end to what she thought of as an unjust penance that had been forced upon her. And as the view became clear, she gasped at the sight of a city in flames, and the spectacle of multiple armored figures hurtling through the sky directly toward them.

* * *

"THIS IS LANI LING, REPORTING FOR KNCC NEWS. THE BATTLE BETWEEN PATRIOT AND JUSTICE LEAGUE FORCES CONTINUES UNABATED AS PATRIOT TERRORISTS BREAK THROUGH THE JUSTICE LEAGUE PERIMETER FOR OTHER PARTS OF THE CITY. UNABLE TO CONTAIN THE TERRORISTS, THE JUSTICE LEAGUE IS SCRAMBLING TO REORGANIZE THEIR COUNTERATTACK."

* * *

**NorAm: New Coast City, School District**

Martin Ulster cut his thrusters just short of the school window, allowing his momentum to carry him forward into a somersault that served to slow his descent as he crashed through it. Luckily, the teacher and students had already huddled together in the back of their classroom, well shy of the broken shards of glass. Making his way to the classroom's fire alarm, Martin banged on it with his fist, putting the entire school on alert, and seconds later, blast doors came crashing down to seal the building.

"No need to be frightened, kids," Martin said, removing his helmet, hoping that the sight of his face would make the children less nervous in his presence. "The city is currently undergoing a minor emergency, but it's nothing that the Justice League and your local firefighters can't handle. Please remain calm."

At that very moment, the sound of an energy blast could be heard reverberating against the school's blast shields, which were slowly beginning to glow red from the superheated microwaves of the Firefly armor. Martin rapidly punched some buttons on his armor's sleeve, commanding a freezing blast of carbon dioxide to project from his fingertips, somewhat countering the effect, but he knew it wouldn't hold.

"Alright, I want everyone to form two straight lines and head to the cafeteria," said Martin, his concentration focused on the melting blast doors. A command code locked him into the school's public address system, projecting his voice into every classroom in the school. "No running, no shouting. Everything's going to be all right."

Without further ado, Mrs. Malcolmsen led her students as directed. In short order, everyone was out of the classroom and headed for the safety of the central portion of the building, joined by students from all the other classes. Mrs. Malcolmsen was the first to leave, and Martin was the last. In fact, he exited the room just as a grenade brought down what remained of the blast doors, but not before Martin managed to seal the classroom's front door shut using his quick-hardening fire foam.

Nodding appreciatively as the students made it to safety, Martin busied himself by sealing every remaining door on the way to the cafeteria. And once he received confirmation that all of the students had been accounted for, he sealed that one shut as well.

"What is going on out there?" asked Principal Conrad, just loud enough to upset the nearest students and teachers. More of an administrator than a teacher, Conrad didn't understand that they relied upon him to feel safe in these most extraordinary circumstances.

"Please calm yourself," said Martin, smiling for the children and leaning in to whisper into Conrad's ear. "It doesn't help to panic. A Patriot cell calling themselves the Firefly Force are attacking the city. They are currently engaged in a pitched battle against the Justice League, and one unit is attacking this school. Try to relax and trust that the Justice League can handle this situation."

"My God, we're all going to..."

"No, we are not!" exclaimed Martin, cutting off the principal before he could say anything that might further alarm the children. "Everything is going to be all right. The situation is well-in-hand."

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown**

"What do we do? What do we do?"

This was not the Justice League's shining hour. The discipline of the ground forces was beginning to fail, and the troops were beginning to become more than just restless and less than valiant. Their opponents' advanced sensors made smoke grenades and blinding tactics useless, such that they only served to wreak more havoc upon their own forces. Confronted with a situation where shooting first and asking questions later wasn't an option, the Justice League was practically at a complete loss.

"If this keeps up much longer, we're going to end up losing," said Beckett, looking to Particle Man to take charge of the situation once again. "Got any ideas?"

"Only one," Particle Man said, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder and looking him in the eye, making it clear that it was up to him.

"No way! You know I don't like to..."

"I'm sorry, but we don't have many other options," said Particle Man, who hated having to order his friend to do this horrible thing. Aside from his technological genius, Beckett Baker also possessed superhuman powers, namely the ability to telepathically command and communicate with insect life. However, when this same power was attempted on higher orders of life, such as human beings, it didn't operate as a method of communication. Instead, it shut down their minds and attacked their cerebral cortexes, often causing seizures and triggering aneurysms. And more often than not, it was fatal. "I need you to do this."

Beckett preferred to think of his abilities as a wondrous tool for communication and understanding, rather than as a lethal weapon against which most opponents were completely defenseless. But looking at the havoc being wreaked all around him, he realized that this might be the only way left to take down their opponents without destroying the city...

"Right. I guess Bugmaster Blue is back in action," Beckett said, scanning the skies for Firefly One, the leader of this Patriot cell. Focusing his energies, he concentrated his thoughts into a narrow, tunneling beam directed at his chosen opponent. Nearby spectators could see a visible distortion of the air although the effect was otherwise invisible. It hammered into Garfield full-force, and Beckett expected to see his target start convulsing immediately, but there was no reaction at all.

"Grife!" exclaimed Beckett, an expression of awe on his features. "That armor has psychic shielding. Do you have any idea what level of technology it takes to create an effective psychic barrier against that level of onslaught? Where did they get their hands on this armor?"

Particle Man could only stare on in disbelief. All around him, civilians and Leaguers both were ducking for cover. Something had to be done, but what? "I wish I knew, and that was the best idea I had."

"Then you'd better come up with something else fast. Time is running out."

**NorAM: New Coast City, Downtown [Firefly Command Post]**

Firefly One hovered majestically above the battle scene, glorying in his achievement. His plan had been simple, to wreak as much havoc as possible, individually take down as members of the League as he was able, and get as much of it holovized on the news as he could manage before destroying the entire city.

"So far, so good," said Garfield, smiling down upon the city that would soon fall at his hands. His forces already had the Justice League effectively neutralized, and very soon, he would have an entire elementary school full of hostages to draw more media attention. "Now, I think it's time to start demolishing a few living icons."

With complete disdain for the lives of the innocents below, Garfield flew directly towards the Justice League command post. Firing a continuous blast of microwave heat beneath him as he went, he left a 10-foot-wide stream of bubbling, molten asphalt on the asphalt below to mark his passing.

"Particle Man!" bellowed Garfield, letting loose a few wild blasts at nearby buildings to draw more attention to himself. When no immediate response was forthcoming, he blasted the nearest JL trooper, leaving nothing behind but a pile of ash and bone. Sergeant Herschel Mills would not be returning home this evening. His family would mourn his passing, and his comrades would drink to his memory, assuming that anyone in New Coast City survived this battle. "Come out and face me! It's time for the generals to do battle with each other!"

Garfield raised his hand to blast another JL trooper into dust, but his beam was intercepted by the charged particle field surrounding Bryan Starr's body.

"Have at thee, villain!"

**NorAM: New Coast City, Downtown [The Battlefield]**

"Have at thee, villain? Not exactly the way I'd go about building confidence in the troops," Killer Frost said, snuffing out his cigarette by freezing it into a shard of ice, allowing it to crumble like snow.

"Then don't ye think you should be gettin' in there and lendin' a hand, boyo?" queried Mulligan, addressing him over the comm. "Bloody hell, ye've got cold powers! Freaking cold powers! Get off your duff, ye lazy son of a..."

"Sticks and stones, mate," answered Frost, barely fazed by the tirade. As a former teacher, he was already more than accustomed to such outbursts. "I'm here as an observer only. And that's minus two points for disrespecting a superior officer."

"But people are dying!" Mulligan exclaimed, forming his hands into fists. "I can't believe ye won't even raise a finger, ye thieving English..."

"Well, it's not like I got into this business to be popular, now is it?" Frost stated, smiling all the while. It was a rhetorical question, one meant to make clear exactly how little this tirade of insults fazed him. After all, it came with the job. In fact, his skin was so thick that only the most incredibly brutal and insulting barbs had any influence on him anymore.

"Why, ye lazy, good-for-nothing wannabe ORBITAL reject..."

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"

**NorAm: New Coast City, School District**

"Have at thee, villain? That doesn't sound right at all. Where's the authoritative bellow? And what about the overdramatic posturing?" asked Juan Ramirez, monitoring the battle on the fire engine's holovid screen. Standing up, he mimicked Particle Man's utterance with his own variation, using a sing-song voice, pointing heroically at the horizon, and jutting out his chin. "Have at thee, villain!"

"So what TwenCen TV hep-cat was that supposed to be?" asked Kerouac Jackson, the pilot of the Anne-Marie Godwin. "Sounds like the little Martian dude with the ray gun and the janitor's helmet. Dig?"

"What? Can't you tell the difference between Marvin the Martian and Dudley Do-Right?" Juan asked, incredulously. He quickly strapped himself back into his seat as Kerouac took the Godwin on a series of hairpin turns and loops, running circles around the suddenly disoriented Firefly terrorists and moving to intercept the fire being directed against the Leaguers in their care. "What kind of culture-less society have we become?"

As for the two Justice Leaguers in question, they could only watch in disbelief as the clunky-looking fire engine managed aerobatic feats that should have been impossible even for a fighter jet.

"That pilot's either totally daft or bloody brilliant!" Mulligan exclaimed, using his shillelagh to slow the advance of a pair of Fireflies by setting off an explosion in front of them.

"Or both!" agreed Saracen, leaping into the air in a twisting vault that allowed him to get one of the Fireflies in a choke hold. Using his hands, he crushed the helmet's visor, effectively blinding him, and sent him careening off into the distance away from the school.

All around them, they could see civilians too frightened to move, having taken cover behind or beneath whatever structures were at hand. But it was only a matter of time before people started getting hurt, and even the Justice League wouldn't be able to prevent it forever, if at all.

* * *

"THIS IS LANI LING, REPORTING FOR KNCC NEWS. THINGS LOOK GRIM IN NEW COAST CITY AS THE PATRIOT TERRORIST FACTION KNOWN AS THE FIREFLY FORCE CONTINUES TO PRESS ITS ATTACK. IN THE HEART OF THE BUSINESS DISTRICT, PARTICLE MAN IS SQUARING OFF AGAINST FIREFLY ONE, WHILE THE REST OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE IS SCRAMBLING TO KEEP THE REST OF THE FIREFLY FORCE CONTAINED. UNFORTUNATELY, A FULL SQUADRON OF TERRORISTS HAS ALREADY BROKEN THROUGH THEIR PERIMETER, HEADED DIRECTLY FOR NEW COAST ELEMENTARY WITH ONLY TWO JUSTICE LEAGUERS STANDING IN THEIR WAY. HOW LONG CAN THEY POSSIBLY HOLD ON AGAINST SUCH OVERWHELMING ODDS?"

* * *

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown**

Sarah Conklin raced towards the Justice League command post, desperate for assistance. Frantic, she physically tried to force her way past the JL trooper struggling to block her, pounding on his chest with her clenched fists. "Please, you have to do something! Didn't you hear the broadcast? They're attacking the school! My son is in that school!"

"Is there a problem here?" Beckett asked, motioning for the trooper to let her pass. "Bugmaster Blue, ma'am. How may I be of assistance?"

Sarah did her best to regain both her breath and her composure. She was wrapped in a medical services blanket, marking her as one already touched by the chaos erupting all around them. The firefighters were doing their best, but for each person they rescued unharmed, two more were injured. Or even killed.

"It's my son. Please, he's a student at New Coast Elementary. It's being attacked!" Sarah exclaimed, tears in her eyes. "He's only eight years old... they're only children... please, just give them what they want!"

Beckett could only stand there, helplessly. He didn't want to shatter her hopes, but neither did he want to make any false promises. The Justice League's protocols didn't allow for negotiations with Patriot under any circumstances, and their main priority remained bringing down the enemy leader. In the distance, he could see Siren and Rainbow struggling to disable rather than kill a small group of Fireflies while firefighters scrambled to protect citizens from the hail of falling debris that was the byproduct of their battle.

"I'm sorry. We're doing everything we can to bring this conflict to an end as soon as possible," said Beckett, looking into Sarah's eyes just as the handbook recommended, in hopes that his words would seem more sincere. "Try to remain calm. That's the best way for you to help both the League and your son."

Beckett made a hand motion in the air, and the nearest JL trooper came to lead Sarah away, back to the underground safe zone that had been hastily thrown together. He watched her walk away, tears flowing freely. Unable to stand the spectacle, he turned his face away to see one of the firefighters hovering before him.

"And who are you?"

"Deputy Chief Hal Kalmaku, New Coast Central," Hal said, proffering a casual salute for formality's sake. "Don't you think we should stop all the lying and start facing up to reality?"

"And what reality might that be? Do you know something that I don't know?" asked Beckett, not used to being questioned by a subordinate.

"What do I know? I know that my people can't possibly keep up with these hazards. I know that my man, Redfoot, has personally carried over twenty injured people to safety while your troopers just stood around and watched. I know that my man Hartley has footage of your people dealing with panicked civilians by stunning them into unconsciousness. Things have got to change. This has got to stop."

"Look, my people are just as stressed as yours," said Beckett, who was in fact somewhat appalled by what he'd been told. He'd been too busy trying to find a weakness in the enemy's armor to pay much attention to what had been happening in the background. "What you don't know is that Firefly One's armor is rigged to explode. If we try to take him out directly, it could destroy the entire city, and if we take out too many of his men, it could happen, anyway. We're limited to doing our best to just hold them back, and we're doing the best we can."

"And failing," Hal said, landing in front of the Leaguer and removing his helmet. He tried to get his point across more clearly by looking him in the eyes, just as the handbook directed. "Let's face it. You're not trained or equipped for this. All your men have are weapons designed for killing, and all they're trained for is taking people out."

"And I suppose you have a better idea that's going to solve all of our problems?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," said Hal, putting his helmet back on. He didn't have time to waste. "Have your people and mine switch places."

"What?"

"You heard me. My people are highly-trained in the use of equipment specifically designed to fight fires. Your people outnumber mine three to one, and they can do more good getting the civilians to safety and shielding them from harm," Hal said, adjusting his comm. "You hear that, people?"

The Justice League saving lives? Beckett was just about to countermand the firefighter's order when he took a moment to truly consider it. The Firefly Force would never see it coming, and in point of fact, the tactic had a high probability of success.

"All Justice League units, this is Bugmaster Blue. Change of directive. Cease and desist all combat operations. Begin rescue operations! Repeat..."

"New Coast Central, this is DC. Change of orders. Cease and desist rescue operations and begin holding maneuver against hostiles..."

**NorAm: New Coast City, Financial District**

Philip Conklin rushed through the streets, desperate to find his family. He'd thought they'd be safer here, far away from Gotham. He'd thought that the job at Ferris Aerospace had been a fantastic opportunity to escape the overwhelming mayhem, and he despaired at how horribly wrong he'd been.

"Sarah! Charlotte!" he screamed through cupped hands, knowing that his voice would barely be audible over the explosions and energy fire. Indeed, the cacophony was such that he didn't even notice the beam of microwave heat headed his way until the very last second.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, closing his eyes to prepare himself for death, an excruciating death that never came. He opened his eyes to see a protective barrier surrounding him, a complex amalgam of harmonics designed to deflect and diffract energies directed against it. "Who...? How...?"

"Siren, at your service," Agnes said, a beaming smile on her face. She'd never really had the opportunity to go out and save lives before, but she was quickly learning to love it. "Don't worry. You'll be safe now."

"Please, I have to find my wife and daughter," Philip said, brushing his hand against the barrier. It was solid yet vibrant. "My little Charlotte must be so frightened..."

"Charlotte? Charlotte Conklin?" asked Siren, going over the names of all citizens currently accounted for in the safe zone on her heads-up display. "We've already got her, along with your wife Sarah. They're fine."

"Oh, thank God..."

"Glad to be of service," said Agnes, motioning for a pair of JL troopers to assist her, positioning their riot shields protectively around Mr. Conklin. "These troopers will take you to them. Have a nice day."

**NorAM: New Coast City, Downtown**

Herman Gerber readjusted the sensors in his Firefly armor, trying to compensate for the feedback being generated by the Leaguer called Rainbow. She wasn't bad to look at, and it would be a shame to have to kill her. Still, a terrorist had to do what a terrorist had to do. As soon as his systems were completely back online, he tried to reacquire his target. Scanning the streets below, he came across two civilians, a man and a woman huddled together for comfort.

"Well, look what we have here," Gerber said, extending his right arm to blast the pair into ash. He doubted that Rainbow would feel any remorse at all for two minor deaths she couldn't prevent, but it was worth a try. Humming with power, the armor released a searing beam of microwave heat, and had it not been for the timely intervention of Rainbow, they would surely have been no more.

Traveling at something approaching the speed of light, a feat that she could only manage for short distances, Caitlin interposed her own body between Gerber's beam and his intended targets. The protective bubble of light surrounding her body took the brunt of the damage, but he still managed to singe her costumed body armor. "Get them out of here!" Caitlin yelled, the nearest JL troopers rushing to their aid, guns holstered and shields at the ready. She was about to brace herself for a second blast when another armored figure entered the scene, taking a defensive position in front of her.

"What the...?" began a stunned Gerber. His blast struck the newcomer square in the chest, but the F-2000 battle suit wasn't even so much as scratched. He was about to send another volley when the firefighter rushed forward to clip him in the knees, sending the Firefly spinning head over heels into the nearest building.

"Thanks for the assist," Caitlin said, offering the firefighter a salute. "You may have just saved my life."

"Just part of the job, ma'am," replied Cameron Redfoot, returning the salute. "Frankly, it's what I love most about what's otherwise the worst job in the world."

"I'm beginning to understand the feeling," said Caitlin, thinking of the two civilians whose lives she herself had just helped save.

**NorAm: New Coast City, Central Park**

Rosalind Crandall let loose another blast of microwave heat at the park below, and yet another tree burst into flames. Laughing maniacally, she continued her rampage, moving on to willow after willow, oak after oak. She loved explosions, but she loved the feeling of power that arose from a destructive spree even more. Chaos! Mayhem! For her, it was music. It was art.

Below her, civilians scrambled for cover to avoid the hail of burning wood, knowing that they could do nothing should the mad assailant above them choose to target them directly. They were like ants scurrying for their anthills, and her armor was like the most powerful magnifying glass in the world. She was about to continue her mindless assault on a certain female reporter racing by below when she suddenly felt a tapping upon her right shoulder.

"Huh...?" Crandall said quizzically, just before an armored fist knocked her some ten feet into the ground. "Who do you think you are? What do you think you're doing?"

"My name is Christine Carpenter," Chris answered, rushing in to deliver a second punch that pounded the Firefly's head into the earth. "I'm a firefighter, and I'm here to put out a fire. You."

"Chris?" Crandall asked, uncertain as to whether she'd heard the name correctly.

"Rose?" asked Chris, hardly daring to believe that she'd once called the agent of terror before her a friend. "It can't be. How could you do this? How could you harm innocents like this?"

"And how could you start kowtowing to the League?" Crandall demanded, reaching forward to grab her F-2000 by the shoulders, following with a head butt that sent her reeling.

"So what should I be doing? Randomly killing innocent people?" Chris asked, taking up a defensive posture. "That's not what Patriot is supposed to be about. I'm tired of the killing, and I won't work with people who can't find another way. I save lives now. That's what I do. That's who I am, and if that means kicking your keister all over the pavement, then so be it."

"Are you doing this because of what happened to Ian...?"

"Don't you dare!" Chris exclaimed, her stance becoming more aggressive. "Don't you dare so much as whisper his name..."

"But we're doing this in his honor!" exclaimed Crandall, powering up her weapons systems to full. "He showed us the way! We needed a symbol like the armor he created! To rally the people and strike terror into the League..."

"Ian Marshall would never have stood for any of this, and you know it!" Chris screamed, ready to take down her former comrade-in-arms. "I'm better than you. You can't beat me, and you know it."

"Why, you stuck up little..." Crandall stammered, enraged beyond belief. "You think that F-2000 can stand up to the Firefly? This thing has telepathic shielding, sensors that penetrate the most advanced cloaking devices, even the phase signatures of intangible targets! I'm state of the art! You're second-grade civil defense scrap!"

"But your only weapon is a heat ray," said Chris, her tone calm once more. "The one thing this armor does best is withstand heat. So in the end, the winner will be the better fighter. I win. You lose. And we both know it."

**NorAm: New Coast City, School District**

Martin watched as the children huddled together, trying to ignore the sound of the explosions. The principal had made the mistake of turning on the holos so he could view the news broadcasts, which only served to make the children more frightened. They may have been young, but they weren't stupid. Many of them had parents who worked downtown, and they were all at least aware of the possibility that they might never see their families or other loved ones again.

"Are you okay?" asked Martin, kneeling down to try and reassure some of the students in Mrs. Malcolmsen's class. With the cafeteria sealed shut, there was little else left for him to do, and to be honest, little else that he would rather be doing. To keep their minds occupied, the children had been provided with crayons and paper, and one boy was hard at work drawing a picture of a man with a green ring. "What are you drawing? What's your name? How old are you?"

"Charlie Conklin," said the boy, not looking up from his work. "I'm eight and a half, and I'm drawing the Green Lantern. He'll come save us if we really need him, and if we believe in him enough. I know."

"What makes you so certain?" asked Martin, somewhat stunned by the child's innocent declaration of trust. "What if he doesn't return?"

"But why wouldn't he?" asked Charlie, looking up at Martin for the first time. "My mom says that New Coast City is the Green Lantern's home. Why wouldn't he defend it?"

"Well, maybe he's just not sure which side he should be fighting on," said Martin, unable to keep a slight tremor out of his voice. "The world has changed a lot since last there was a Green Lantern on this planet. Maybe he's confused. Maybe he's just not sure if he should do anything at all."

"That's okay," Charlie replied, returning to his drawing. "Even if you don't know what to do, I'm sure the Green Lantern does. He doesn't have to choose sides. He just has to stop people from hurting each other, make sure that no one gets hurt. You know, do his best. Do you like it? Would you like to have it? I can always draw another one."

Charlie extended his finished drawing, which showed Green Lantern floating above New Coast City with his ring held high over his head. The ring was glowing like a green star, and people with smiling faces were spread out below him.

"Thank you, Charlie," Martin said, smiling broadly. "You know, you're a pretty smart kid."

"I know."

Martin reached out his hand to ruffle the boy's hair. A decision made, he teleported himself out of the building, leaving behind a solid energy duplicate of himself to keep from being missed. It was time for the new Green Lantern to save New Coast City.

**NorAM: New Coast City, Downtown**

Although the decision for the Justice League and the firefighters to switch duties had been largely successful in the main battle taking place downtown, the forces gathered outside New Coast Elementary were still outnumbered and hard-pressed. The Fireflies had quickly rallied, attacking in groups of five rather than individually, making it impossible for the beleaguered firefighters and Justice Leaguers to mount a sufficient defense.

"We can't hold these cats much longer," Kerouac said, monitoring his gauges. The Anne-Marie Godwin was almost out of firefighting foam, and her engines were more than starting to feel the strain. "Time to pray for a miracle."

Quick to oblige under grim circumstances, Juan Ramirez got down on his hands and knees, and raised folded hands over his head in supplication to a higher power. "Save us! Save us!"

"Bloody hell, someone shut that idiot up," said Mulligan, panting for breath. They'd only been defending this school for half an hour, but it had been half an hour of nonstop combat. Currently, the Fireflies had them completely pinned on one side of the building, leaving half of them free to swing around the sides of the building and find another way inside. "Damn it, we've lost. We've failed! We've..."

"No! Look!" exclaimed Saracen, pointing heavenwards. Even some of the attacking Fireflies adjusted their gazes to see what had drawn the attention of their opponents, thinking that it might be surprise reinforcements. Needless to say, they were completely unprepared for what the sight that met their eyes, what appeared to be an emerald star hurtling towards them at Mach 5, a star that left no sonic boom in its wake.

In truth, it was not a star but the head of a beam of emerald energy being directed at them, sweeping through them one by one. Upon its passing, each Firefly found himself completely encased in a prison of solid emerald energy like insects trapped in green amber. Absolutely helpless, they fell to earth with a resounding thud, and the day was saved.

Kerouac offered a salute to whoever had saved them. Mulligan and Saracen just smiled as the strange green light continued on past them, clapping each other on the back, but Juan remained on his knees, babbling on and on.

"I would also like a new girlfriend, a new hover, a promotion, a billion credits, and..."

**NorAm: New Coast City, Downtown [The Battlefield]**

The battle between Particle Man and Firefly One continued to rage on, the force of the blows they exchanged generating shockwaves that shattered nearby windows. It would be more reassuring to say that the battle had gone on this long only because Particle Man was holding back, but that simply wasn't true. Firefly One's armor was just significantly more powerful than those of the rest of the terrorist force.

"You've lost, Particle Man!" Garfield exclaimed, arms raised over his head in a gesture of victory. "Your firefighters have done admirably, but eventually they will tire. In time, our superior numbers will win the day! Even now, my forces gather together to attack en masse. You will soon be overwhelmed, and this entire city will lie in ashes!"

Even Particle Man could see the truth in Garfield's words. In the distance, he could see Christine Carpenter struggling against three Fireflies by herself. In another direction, he could see Rainbow and Cameron Redfoot fighting back to back against another five. They fought valiantly, but they were already starting to weaken. And he could see the truth in Garfield's words.

"Give up now, and perhaps I'll spare this city. Beg me, and perhaps I'll kill only you!" exclaimed Garfield, who began forming a bubble of microwave heat around himself, a bubble that he could extend in all directions simultaneously in the form of a pulse. The shields that the JL troopers carried would be ineffective against it, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, would die instantly. "Sacrifice yourselves, you and the other Justice Leaguers, and perhaps..."

Particle Man actually found himself considering the offer when his attention was drawn by the approach of an emerald beam of light cutting a swath through his city. No buildings or people were harmed, but each Firefly that it passed met the same fate as those who had been laying siege to New Coast Elementary. Soon they were all immobilized and made completely helpless.

"What...? How...?" Garfield stammered, uncertain what to make of this new development. In an instant, all of his people had been defeated, completely neutralized by some unseen and unknown foe. Suddenly, a brilliant green light shone from above, and reflexively, he found himself raising his arm to his eyes to shield them from the glare. And then the green light lowered itself from the heavens, diminishing in brilliance to take the form of a man. "Who are you?"

The newcomer simply hovered there, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a jet-black uniform that hugged his athletic form, the only distinguishing markings upon it being the symbol that every citizen of New Coast City recognized instantaneously - the symbol of the Green Lantern Corps, one on his left shoulder, another on the right side of his collar. And on his face, he wore the classic green mask made famous by Hal Jordan himself.

"I am the Green Lantern," said Martin, his voice echoing throughout the city. It carried authority. It inspired confidence. All was silent as Leaguers and civilians both stared up in awe at their unexpected savior. "New Coast City is my home, a home that I will defend. Surrender yourself, for you have been defeated."

Suddenly, the Firefly One armor started to hum and vibrate, its power levels beginning to overload. The solid green energy that imprisoned the rest of the Firefly Force somehow cut them off from the power supply that Firefly One's armor provided them. And with nowhere else to go, Garfield's armor would soon explode, destroying the entire city, unless Garfield hit his failsafe and neutralized it. Upon realization, a cruel and wicked smile lit up his features until Martin Ulster raised a hand. His eyes flashed with a green light, and Garfield was suddenly encased in a field of green force.

"Do not destroy yourself," said Martin, lowering his hand. "This city will not be destroyed. The only one who will be destroyed by this senseless act will be you."

Refusing to believe this warning, Garfield tested the walls of the barrier, hammering it with his fists, blasting it with the most powerful beams of microwave heat that his armor could generate, all to no avail. And with no options remaining to him but a suicide that would take no others with him, his resolve faltered. Triggering the fail safe, his armor started powering down and separating itself from his body. Collapsing into so many individual pieces, it began to glow, brighter and brighter.

Quickly, Martin separated Garfield from the remaining armor fragments, which achieved a brilliant sheen before melting into slag. He lowered Garfield to the ground, where Beckett Baker saw to his capture. All around the city, the other Fireflies found themselves released from their emerald prisons, but with no power source, they could barely even move under the weight of their armor and were quickly captured.

"I suppose I should thank you," said Particle Man, unsure of what he should do in this situation. Protocol demanded that he take unlicensed metas prisoner, especially one with powers of alien origin, but considering what he'd just seen, he wasn't even certain that was possible.

"I only wish I could have done something sooner," said Martin, his eyes slightly downcast. "I was uncertain whether I had the right or responsibility to interfere in a conflict completely internal to this planet, but I could not allow this great city to be destroyed. Coast City has already fallen once. It cannot be allowed to fall a second time."

"So you'll be around?" asked Particle Man, somewhat unnerved by the prospect. He thought back to the Green Lantern's words about New Coast City being his home and wondered what problems this might present for him as the local Justice League commander. There was every chance that he would later have no choice but to capture or kill him.

"I'll be around," said Martin, backing away and offering Particle Man a salute. Looking down upon the crowd below, he offered them a smile and a wave, and a cheer went up throughout the city, intermixed with applause. Their hero had returned. New Coast City once again had a Green Lantern, and despite the horrific violence of the day, all seemed well. Hope had been restored.

* * *

"AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. A CITY ON THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, SAVED IN ITS DARKEST HOUR BY THE UNEXPECTED RETURN OF ITS GREATEST HERO AND THE COMBINED EFFORTS OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE AND THE VALIANT FIREFIGHTERS WHO RISK THEIR LIVES TO DEFEND THIS CITY ON A DAILY BASIS. MAY WE ALL REMEMBER THIS DAY AND LEARN TO RELY UPON EACH OTHER. And MAY THE REST OF THE WORLD LEARN FROM OUR EXAMPLE. THIS IS LANI LING, REPORTING FOR KNCC NEWS."

* * *

**EPILOGUE ONE**

"So the test went well?" asked the dark, armored figure known as Justice. The test recently conducted in New Coast City represented a crucial step, a critical stage in his master plan. "Performance ratings were high?"

"All in all," Killer Frost answered, resisting the urge to indulge in a cigarette. "Except for the unexpected intervention of a certain emerald-clad cosmic do-gooder, everything went better than we hoped, beyond expectations."

"Excellent," Justice said, punching up the schematics for the Firefly armored battle suit on his auxiliary monitor. "Begin mass production immediately."

"As you will," answered Frost, his nervous fingers tapping against the arm of his chair. He really needed a cigarette. "Should I see to doing anything about this Green Lantern business? He could become a major thorn in your side."

"Perhaps... but do nothing," commanded Justice, ever wary. "We understand far too little about this new Green Lantern to move against him. For now."

**EPILOGUE TWO**

Richard Garfield could only grunt in pain as the guards at Belle Reve beat him to within an inch of his life. He had already suffered three cracked ribs and a broken rose, and bruises all over his body. The guards were both zealous and thorough, not to mention naturally inclined towards brutality.

"Think you're good enough to take on the Justice League, do you?"

"Try to blow up a city, will ya?"

Some of the words were even more brutal than the blows, but Richard Garfield couldn't hear them. The voices in his head were too loud, too insistent. They promised power and the opportunity for revenge. They offered a chance at redemption for both him and his cause.

"HELP US, RICHARD GARFIELD, AND WE WILL MAKE YOU POWERFUL. WE WILL GRANT YOU THE MEANS TO WORK YOUR WILL, TO THROW DOWN THE SHACKLES OF YOUR OPPRESSORS. YOU WILL BE OUR THUNDERER, AND WE WILL SHOW YOU THE WAY. FOR WE ARE THE QWARD..."

**EPILOGUE THREE**

A muscular gray figure watched the holocasts with great interest. The events of the previous week had been most enlightening. He had never understood his father's preoccupation with this insignificant planet, and in recent weeks he had noted his brother's presence as well. But in truth, this planet boasted many great warriors, among them beings of cosmic importance who could well dictate the future course of the universe.

"So, a Green Lantern walks among us yet again..."

The possibilities were endless. Where there was one Green Lantern, there existed the potential for many. Another had risen to carry on the mantle of his ancient enemy, one seemingly young and impetuous, one who could perhaps be coerced into joining him in his war against the armies of his father.

Cloaked in shadow, the third son of Darkseid smiled, his red eyes gleaming. Grayven would have an ally in his war against Apokalips. The new Green Lantern would join him or die.

"How touching that he should care so much for this marble of a planet, this speck of a city, these motes of a people..."

**EPILOGUE FOUR**

Juan Ramirez labored diligently in his workshop, hard at work on what would become his lifelong project. Inspired by the appearance of this new hero, he was determined to become his champion's new sidekick. After all, every great hero needed a decent sidekick, someone who would stand at his side and make him look even greater by comparison.

His fingers and face blackened with grease, Juan put the finishing touches on what he planned to call the Lanternmobile, essentially a hover-converted lowrider with lantern-shaped headlights. But the fins needed to be larger and more impressive, the color more lime green in hue.

"Don't worry, Green Lantern, your days battling the forces of evil alone will soon be over. Your little green buddy will soon be standing at your side, drawing the attention and the fire of your many enemies, giving you more free to come up with wittier comments and decent one-liners. I, Juan Ramirez, shall become... the PUNisher!"

**EPILOGUE FIVE**

The night nurse at the Leslie Thompson Elder Care facility in Gotham City could barely manage to keep her eyes open. Her third consecutive shift of the week, she couldn't even manage to focus on the holovision or the news broadcast currently being aired. Generally considered the least exciting assignment at the facility, monitor duty always made her sleepy, especially in this particular ward.

Dedicated to patients who required artificial assistance to survive, the ward was populated entirely by patients in a comatose state. Nothing ever happened here, and she would be hard-pressed to remember even the names of the patients. She had already been working here some eight years, but in all that time, not even a light bulb had needed replacing. Drinking her coffee, she struggled to pay attention to the global news report, currently carrying on about recent happenings in New Coast City.

"...A CITY ON THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, SAVED IN ITS DARKEST HOUR BY THE UNEXPECTED RETURN OF ITS GREATEST HERO..."

Her eyes widened at the sight of a Green Lantern hovering over New Coast City, his ring shining brightly with power. So many old heroes were coming back from the TwenCen. Surely, it meant something that they were all returning at the same time. Was something about to happen? Was some new calamity about to occur that required their unified presence?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, unexpected beeping related to the patient in room 301. Some lights on her console started flashing, and an alarm began to sound. Stunned, she knocked over her coffee in her haste to get to him or her. Through the window, she could see an elderly man gasping for breath, struggling with various electrodes and tubes connected to his body. His eyes were wide open, fixed upon the holovized news broadcast.

Checking his chart, she noted that he had been a patient at Leslie Thompson's for some fifty years, most of those years having been spent in a comatose state. This was the first time that his physical stats had even so much as fluctuated in all those years although brain activity had always been highly-active. Scanning the records, she searched desperately for his name and called the attending physician.

"Doctor Markinson? Emergency in Ward Six. Patient 301 just awakened from his coma. Yes, I think he reacting to something on the holo," said the nurse, trying to get her patient to relax. She was relieved to see that he was starting to calm down, that his stats were stabilizing. "No, it doesn't look like there's any immediate danger. Talk to him? Keep him calm until you get here? Of course."

He was staring at her face. He was listening to her words. Looking into his eyes, the nurse could see that they were still twitching rapidly, but beginning to focus, focus upon her.

"It's okay, Mr. Scott. You're going to be all right. You've been asleep for a long time, but that's over now. You'll see, Alan. Everything will be okay..."

**EPILOGUE SIX**

"I'm proud to announce that we've finally found you a new teacher," Principal Conrad announced to the third grade class at New Coast Elementary. Following the terrorist attack the previous week, their former teacher, Mrs. Malcolmsen, had promptly announced her decision to retire. Finding a replacement teacher had been more than problematic. "Some of you may even remember him from that brief disturbance we had. Please, introduce yourself."

A young man walked in, smiling and waving his hand. He was dressed casually but formally, and he seemed surprisingly nervous for a teacher, not to mention young. There was something strangely familiar about him, but the children had difficulty placing him right away. Even so, as soon as they heard his voice, they recognized him immediately as the firefighter who had come to their aid during the attack.

"Good morning, class," said Martin, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "My name is Martin Ulster, and I'm going to be your new teacher. I'm sure you all miss Mrs. Malcolmsen, but I'm hoping that you'll come to accept and trust me at least as much as you did her."

"Thank you, Mr. Ulster, I'm sure you'll do fine," said Conrad, taking his leave. "And I expect you all to be on your best behavior for Mr. Ulster. Understand?"

"Yes, Principal Conrad."

Thankful that the principal was gone, Martin punched up Mrs. Malcolmsen's lesson plan on his data pad, having decided to pick up exactly where she'd left off. Obtaining the qualifications to become a teacher had taken several days of examinations, but he'd passed them easily, and Chief Ramirez had been more than happy to approve his transferal to part-time status as a firefighter. After all, hadn't he always been saying that Martin needed to find himself a life outside of the department?

"I see that Mrs. Malcolmsen had you working on a new slogan for the city," said Martin, excited by the topic. "Well, you've had a week to think about it. Does anyone have any ideas they'd like to share?"

Hands were raised eagerly, and many suggestions were offered. New Coast City could do much worse than to be known as the 'City of Hope' or the 'City of Cities.' Even 'City of Spires' could have done the city proud. But to Martin's delight, the final decision of the class had rested with the slogan offered by Charlie Conklin, the student who had helped set him on this new path.

And he could only hope that New Coast City might forever be known as the 'City of Heroes.'

- _End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #8_ -


End file.
